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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