Some people engage in extreme sports, others enjoy starting fights or travelling to Covid hot-spots and licking lampposts, but for my money there can be no greater thrill-seeking activity than infiltrating protest rallies with the sole purpose of getting laid. You may call this cynical, manipulative or even irresponsible behaviour, but after living under virtual house arrest for nigh on eighteen months you've got to get your kicks where you can. And since to all intents and purposes nightclubs no longer exist and bars have become nothing more than adult creches, it's only natural that strapping young bucks like myself should turn our attention to other kinds of social gatherings in the pursuit of slap and tickle. Indeed, protest rallies are ideal for hook-ups. For one thing, you're surrounded by thousands of people at a time, which means the chances of scoring are far greater than your average Saturday night at the Dog and Trumpet. Then there's all that infectious, pent-up energy bubbling away amongst the demonstrators, and since energy can neither be created or destroyed but simply transformed from one state to another, why shouldn't it change from righteous anger to hot, steamy love action?
Now I imagine at this point you're probably saying, "Yeah, this all sounds very attractive, but aren't you leading us into a woke lion's den?" Well, I'm pleased I pretended you asked me that because if you follow the guidelines I've drawn up for you here there's absolutely no reason why even the most hard-right or resolutely non-ideological culture war veteran shouldn't find themselves dancing the pink starfish with a member of the self-styled progressive left.
The first rule for getting lucky at a protest rally is don't appear too flash. Aftershave, well-polished shoes and anything smarter than a jeans-tee shirt/hoodie combo is a dead giveaway for what you're really up to. You think that Extinction Rebellion protester in the two-piece suit who held up the tube at Canning Town station got his tummy banana sucked that night? No, you need to cultivate a chaotic, devil-may-care look that implies you threw on the first thing you saw when you got out of bed that morning. I'm not suggesting said clothing should be unwashed or you should forego wearing deodorant, but it doesn't hurt giving your natural body odours a chance to really let rip when you end up packed in the back of a police van on the way to the cells. It creates the illusion of hard, honest toil setting the world to rights - the ultimate aphrodisiac for that girl with the purple hair who insists on leading her fellow detainees in a chorus of "The Times They Are a-Changin'" while secretly wondering how pissed off daddy's going to be when he has to fork out for bail.
But, of course, dressing down doesn't mean you can't use props to draw attention to yourself. This is where logos and slogans come in, either emblazoned across your clothing or, better still, a placard. You should try to be inventive, though; it's no good attending an anti-Brexit rally with a sweatshirt or banner that reads 'NIGEL FARAGE IS A CUNT' as chances are at least another 200 people have turned up with their own crudely made variants on this Anglo-Saxon epithet. It's better to go for something witty like 'MY COUNTRY EXITED THE EU AND ALL I'VE GOT LEFT IS THIS CRUMMY SHIRT'. Introducing humour into the mix not only detracts from how dishonest or willfully misleading the statement is, it also makes for the perfect ice breaker. If you're having trouble coming up with your own slogan, I recommend checking out ones used by historical movements and altering them to fit today's cultural climate. If you're attending, say, a Black Lives Matter rally and you want something punchy that reflects the current state of race relations, why not take the anti-Civil Rights mantra 'RACE MIXING IS COMMUNISM' and change it to 'RACE MIXING IS COLONIALISM'? No one'll ever know you nicked it from some brain-dead Alabama Klansman. Besides, if it worked for Ibram X. Kendi it'll work for you. I've heard that guy's knee-deep in pussy. Then again, I've also heard people refer to Robin DiAngelo as an academic, so it's probably best to take that with a pinch of salt.
So, anyway, you're at the protest with your scuzzy clothes and provocative placard: what next?
Demeanor is everything. Playing it cool like you would in a bar or nightclub isn't going to work in this environment. It gives the impression you don't care enough, which is a massive turn-off to your average social justice warrior. Plus each protest group has its own set of codes and practices, so it's absolutely vital you familiarise yourself with them before trying your luck. If it's a climate crisis rally, you should be prepared to cry your fucking eyes out. We're not just talking getting misty-eyed here or summoning a lump in your throat, we're talking full-on emotional breakdown. You must whimper and wail like a soy-boy who's accidentally scolded himself with a vegan pumpkin spice latte. If you're having trouble in the waterworks department, try imagining everyone you love drowning in a lake of molten lava. If that just makes you giggle, however, you could always think about that scene in The NeverEnding Story when the horse dies. Conversely, if you're a white guy at a BLM or police brutality march any tears you shed will be dismissed as evidence of white fragility and you may be accused of appropriating black grief. In which case the best thing to do is keep your cool, but make sure you show the requisite dedication to the cause by aggressively shaming anyone who isn't taking part into raising their fist as a mark of solidarity. This generally works better with someone smaller than you or sitting quietly outside a restaurant or café with their family. No one wants to be tarred with the racism brush, least of all some shelf stacker on minimum wage who's been busting his hump all week to keep you in enough Fairtrade coffee to fuel those late-night Twitter rants.
Either way, by this point you'll have ingratiated yourself with your fellow protesters and had a chance to check out the talent. If you've caught someone's eye, don't assume you can just go up to them like Jack the Lad and trot out a variation of your usual patter. "Have you been protesting long?" is likely to be taken as a micro-aggression, invalidating their lived experience and suggesting they're a fraud, while asking straight-up if they want to go for a drink is the surest way to blow your cover. And if you're an arty type, you can forget serenading them with half-remembered quotes by activists or artisans from yesteryear; these days they're all either dismissed as 'dead white men' or, in the case of someone like Martin Luther King, naive fabulists who had no idea what they were talking about. Just to illustrate my point, I have a friend who managed to get up close and personal with a gorgeous, rainbow-haired vixen at the George Floyd demonstrations in Portland last year. Everything was going hunky dory until he let his guard slip and carelessly paraphrased that deeply embarrassing passage from On the Road where the Jack Kerouac character wanders the streets of Harlem wishing he was black. I won't bore you with the details, but one riot, millions of dollars worth of property damage and an emergency airlift from a police helicopter later, my friend's now willing to admit it was probably a mistake.
The trick is to find something polemical and direct, with just a touch of self-abasement to give the impression you care more about whatever cause it is you're supposed to be backing than you do for your own life or happiness. A solid, all-purpose opening line would be, "Don't you just hate [white people / systemic racism / fascism / capitalism / cops / climate change denialists / Brexit / Republicans / Tories / the AfD / the IDF / Islamophobes / Trump / Putin / Boris / Assad / Marine Le Pen / J. K. Rowling / anti-vaxxers / TERFs / homophobes / pro-life advocates / Christians / zoos / pet owners / meat-eaters / vegetarians / fatists / people who diet / Chick-Fil-A / etc]? [It/They] fucking make[s] me sick." Practice saying this a few times in the mirror, altering the tone of your voice with each attempt until you find the appropriate emotional pitch. As mentioned earlier, this will vary depending on the movement you're associating with. Screaming it in someone's face is perfectly acceptable, as is saying it mournfully like you're willing death upon the entire human race, but never say it with even the hint of a smile. You're not down the Slug and Lettuce with a Stella in your hand trying to make the rack on that cute little number from Primark jiggle with every desperately laboured pun; you're meant to be saving the world, remember? Well, that and get your end away.
Now, as the conversation flows and you find yourself bombarded with terms like 'cis-het privilege', 'internalised whiteness', 'liberatory praxis' and so on, it's very tempting to let your eyes glaze over and just agree with whatever your potential shagee is saying. This is a mistake. As long as their adrenaline's pumping - and believe me, it will be - yours should be, too. It doesn't hurt throwing around a few trendy, pseudo-sociological buzzwords yourself, but the problem is they're much better versed in this kind of crap than you are and, given the opportunity, can spew it up for hours on end. A wrong move here will place you squarely in the 'ally zone', and that's not somewhere you really want to be. Ever. The answer? Go Extreme. A good example is using racial slurs to describe people of colour whose politics don't align with current protest movements. You should feel absolutely no guilt referring to public figures such as Tim Scott, Candace Owens, Kemi Badenoch, Calvin Robinson, Thomas Sowell, Inaya Folarin Iman, Coleman Hughes, Glenn Loury et al as "Uncle Toms", "House Negroes" or "Coconuts"; after all, if liberal media pundits and the Blue Ticks on Twitter can get away with it then why shouldn't you? It's not as if they're really black, anyway. (Okay, they look black, but then so did Al Jolson. Sort of.) The best thing about this approach is you can apply it in any number of mind-bendingly absurd and outrageous ways. Caitlyn Jenner? Transphobe. Germaine Greer? Misogynist. Bernie Sanders? Anti-Semitic. You see? It makes it look like you're so committed to social justice that you're willing to completely reshape reality. And for a green-haired maiden sporting a 'SMASH THE PATRIARCHY' tee shirt and an $800 pair of Adidas sneakers that's damn near irresistible.
If you follow this advice to the letter you'll be well on the way to making the sign of the two-headed aardvark in no time. But before you rush into anything, it's important to remain mindful of current year sexual etiquette. If you're a heterosexual male, NEVER take the lead when it comes to the initial kissing and fumbling stage. I really can't emphasise this enough. Any attempt on your part to initiate physical contact will be considered an act of assault and you'll suddenly find yourself about as popular as Bill Cosby at a beauty pageant. In this scenario, you must always ask permission. Ceding control of the situation increases the horn factor for them and allows you to keep your testicles. You could even try prefacing your requests with statements that assert your commitment to social justice. I usually go for something all-purpose like "I have nothing but the deepest respect for your gynecological autonomy, but would it be okay if I put my hand in your knickers?", however you may wish to come up with your own variants. (I'm told "Procreational sex is ecological fascism" is a pretty good opening salvo to use before asking a climate change protester for a blowjob.) But don't worry if this all sounds like a long, drawn-out slog: after a while your fellow squidgee will be so eager to get off she'll let you drop the beta-male act and grope to your heart's content.
Perhaps the most important consideration, though, is where to do the deed. Taking them back to your place is fraught with risk as it's not always possible to know how they'll react to the contents of your bookshelf, DVD collection, or even the pictures you have up on your wall. Just because you've taken the time to replace that poster of John Wayne with one of Nelson Mandela and hidden your well-thumbed copies of 12 Rules for Life, Irreversible Damage and The Madness of Crowds in the wardrobe alongside your League of Gentlemen and Russ Meyer box sets doesn't mean they won't find something triggering or problematic. That's just what they do; they can't help it. I mean, if To Kill a Mockingbird is now considered a white supremacist novel how do you think your conquest is getting to react when they see the DVD case for Conan the Barbarian on your coffee table? One minute you're tearing each other's clothes off, the next you're being denounced as an alt-right piece of shit. And don't think going back to theirs is going to be a safer bet, either. They may wish to put on some music that means something to them, which is a guaranteed way of dampening your ardour. I once copped off with an animal rights activist who insisted on playing Joy Division while we got down and dirty. Let me tell you, it's a job keeping your stroke up when you've got Ian Curtis bellowing "This is the way, step in-siiiide!" on every thrust. But even worse is what happens after you've made the beast with two backs. Unless you're the sort of bastard who makes a break for it the the second your erstwhile skin-buddy gets up to use the toilet, common courtesy dictates there has to be some form of pillow talk - and since these people only ever want to discuss their grievances or objections about society in general, you can expect more blather about 'racism-adjacency', 'structural inequality' and so on. You've suffered through this already, so why put yourself through it again now you've had your oats? It makes no sense, especially since you're just going to give them a fake number and a noncommittal promise to see them at the next Friends of Stalin general meeting.
No, the solution is a simple one. Do it outdoors - right there in the middle of the protest. As a concession to current public health sensibilities, wear a face mask; it'll make you feel like you're in an even kinkier version of Eyes Wide Shut. Other than that, shirts off, trousers down and get to work. Trust me, there's nothing more liberating than dipping your wick in front of thousands of strangers to the clatter of batons on riot shields and the hiss of tear gas. Even moronic chants like 'PIGS IN A BLANKET, FRY 'EM LIKE BACON' have a handy rhythm when you're horny enough. And who knows where it might lead? There you are in the middle of the street, bare arse rising and falling as the nubile cutie beneath you digs her nails in your back and squeals with delight; others may take your cue and join in. Just picture it: a mass of sweaty, scrofulous bodies of all shapes, hues and persuasions writhing in a sea of orgiastic delight. Now that's what I call a demonstration.
