Nobody above the age of 5 got things to go their way by moping around and being an asshole
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We’ve all been there. But seriously, aren’t we supposed to have some kind of astronaut pens that can write forever. Don’t we have that technology yet? Isn’t this the future? I’m pretty sure you can get them in any issue of Skymall. 

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The eternal struggle between good and evil.

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     It’s almost ineffable: the terror and angst younger generations feel when contemplating the endless atrocities of the Baby Boomer generation. Here, this clairvoyant young poet has adeptly encapsulated the blatant disregard for the planet, ethics, current and future human life, and good taste that seems to be the linchpin of the Baby Boomer ideology.
Consider as he lays out what he would be like if he “were a grandparent” [i.e. born in 1940-55].
     He would ride around on a motorcycle all day pumping CO2 into the feeble atmosphere in the same manner his generation learned to funnel feed down the necks of chained poultry to maximize profits, securing an addiction to the fossil fuel industry that stands holding the switch to modern society’s electrical chair. Naturally, this megalomaniac would be a billionaire in the same manner as the Robber Barons and human rights criminals he admires. As if his heroin-esque need to transfer a deluge of money into the pockets of Shell Oil brass wasn’t enough, he intends to travel only by limousine in the sprawling parking lot of Los Angeles. “Lose” Angeles, indeed, young scribe.
     Everything he buys will be the biggest and the best. When his banks run afoul of their own house of cards by sending rolled mortgage payments off on devil-may-care derivative gambles across the world that tie the fate of the Denver Public School Systems to the LIBOR it won’t be enough. He will merge his banks. He will not punish the financial execs that wrought the economic terrorism that bankrupted entire classes of citizens. His expresso maker will be the size of a Volvo. His Nestle Crunch bars will only be purchased in Shaquille O’Neil novelty size! His toilets will be too big to fail!
     Perhaps most ominous is the allusion to the future technocrat-humanoid wave to be fueled by the merger of Bilderberg and Google. This “grandparent” would be a machine. For after ones soul has been eroded by the diligent weathering of ethic-less behavior driven by a loyalty only to profit margins and never human life, the transformation to robotics is inevitable to survive.
     Oh, he’d like to gamble. Gamble with the fate of the planet and human race. Gamble that the pipeline won’t burst with lesser metal that ensures a 2% stakeholder increase against best practices. Gamble that the masses won’t rise up and spill the blood of the global elite to use as fertilizer in our post-apocalyptic utopian societies. Gamble that we’ll really buy that feculent piece of trash LP coming from Illuminati shrill Jay-Z. Gamble that we won’t ignore your plutocratic decrees, face God and walk backwards into HELL together!
     Incredible satiric presentation of the dystopian society left by my grandparents’ generation. Spelling and handwriting need great improvement. I give this a “Two-Bunny SUPER” but it could very easily have been a “Dancing Bear AWESOME” if you had proofed your work.
Written by Blonde Draper

     It’s almost ineffable: the terror and angst younger generations feel when contemplating the endless atrocities of the Baby Boomer generation. Here, this clairvoyant young poet has adeptly encapsulated the blatant disregard for the planet, ethics, current and future human life, and good taste that seems to be the linchpin of the Baby Boomer ideology.

Consider as he lays out what he would be like if he “were a grandparent” [i.e. born in 1940-55].

     He would ride around on a motorcycle all day pumping CO2 into the feeble atmosphere in the same manner his generation learned to funnel feed down the necks of chained poultry to maximize profits, securing an addiction to the fossil fuel industry that stands holding the switch to modern society’s electrical chair. Naturally, this megalomaniac would be a billionaire in the same manner as the Robber Barons and human rights criminals he admires. As if his heroin-esque need to transfer a deluge of money into the pockets of Shell Oil brass wasn’t enough, he intends to travel only by limousine in the sprawling parking lot of Los Angeles. “Lose” Angeles, indeed, young scribe.

     Everything he buys will be the biggest and the best. When his banks run afoul of their own house of cards by sending rolled mortgage payments off on devil-may-care derivative gambles across the world that tie the fate of the Denver Public School Systems to the LIBOR it won’t be enough. He will merge his banks. He will not punish the financial execs that wrought the economic terrorism that bankrupted entire classes of citizens. His expresso maker will be the size of a Volvo. His Nestle Crunch bars will only be purchased in Shaquille O’Neil novelty size! His toilets will be too big to fail!

     Perhaps most ominous is the allusion to the future technocrat-humanoid wave to be fueled by the merger of Bilderberg and Google. This “grandparent” would be a machine. For after ones soul has been eroded by the diligent weathering of ethic-less behavior driven by a loyalty only to profit margins and never human life, the transformation to robotics is inevitable to survive.

     Oh, he’d like to gamble. Gamble with the fate of the planet and human race. Gamble that the pipeline won’t burst with lesser metal that ensures a 2% stakeholder increase against best practices. Gamble that the masses won’t rise up and spill the blood of the global elite to use as fertilizer in our post-apocalyptic utopian societies. Gamble that we’ll really buy that feculent piece of trash LP coming from Illuminati shrill Jay-Z. Gamble that we won’t ignore your plutocratic decrees, face God and walk backwards into HELL together!

     Incredible satiric presentation of the dystopian society left by my grandparents’ generation. Spelling and handwriting need great improvement. I give this a “Two-Bunny SUPER” but it could very easily have been a “Dancing Bear AWESOME” if you had proofed your work.

Written by Blonde Draper

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A journal entry from Walter White’s kid. Teacher does not seem impressed.

Dynamite + Cookies = Cocaine

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Evil Child Genius.

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Writing kills me. IF I write a lot at summer my fingers will fall of. tHEN Dad won’t think its funny.

My guess is that this was actually written by Michael Strahan in the off season. Have you seen his fingers!? If you haven’t watch this video if you want an excuse not to let your kids play football.

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Pilgrims - Written in 1993ish

This is supposed to be a history lessons in Pilgrims, Indians and the Mayflower 

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If I Were the Boss.

Second Grade September 14th, 1994

If I were the boss I would jomp on my bed all day. I would go to mcdnolds to have all my mells. I would Have my onn toy r us. I would by all the toys I whont. And I would make my mom do all my home work. This is what I would do if I were boss.

 teddy bear stamp of approval.

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I wish I could.

Written Jan 19, 1995

I wish I could football. I also wish i could shot my sister with a mashengun. I wish I could foup on my bed. I wish I could get 5 pets. Thats what I wish I could.

Ahh… The world was so much simpler back in 1995. A time when a journal entry about wishing to shoot my sister with a machine gun gets me a kissy stamp of approval.

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