What Is That Green Slime Doing on Toast?
Ms. Campbell, a word if you please: who are you people? I read your piece and am thoroughly upset — I resemble that boomer.
OK, I can still climb up into the attic any time I want — even if it hurts to stay bent over that long, which is the reason the electronic air filter we paid good money for doesn’t get cleaned regularly. If you insist, I’ll climb up there and dig through the boxes and rolls of drawings and find my clever, hand-printed silk screen “Strike” poster from 1969. Red fist clenched on brown butcher paper. I was there, gol durn it, and I have a tie-dyed headband to prove it.
Shit, where’d she put my teeth?
For the record, you PRIVILEGED punks didn’t have to listen to Nixon’s oily excuses for why he sent B-52s over Laos to bomb the crap out of people who never heard them coming — do you know that expression? It’s really true. And they sure as hell weren’t eating avocado toast.
Right? You guys were just little zygotes, if even. And that next sniveling generation with a pathetic end of times name — X — Z — oh, why do they even matter? What happened to Y? Who’s on first?
Yeah, OK, some of us Boomers got lazy and had to go work for The Man, but at some point when the lease on the BMW ran out, and the apartment was a total hookah mess, what else were we to do? Cocaine costs!
Virginia just legalized pot! No kidding! Power to the Purple. Right arm. I’m coming to join you, Elizabeth!
You think we had it all peaches and cream? Think about all those nights when we kids were forced to eat dinner at a yellow Formica table — Formica, for god’s sake — and frozen fish sticks, yum. Think of the trauma. And I had to watch TV on other people’s sets because my dear, sweet mother wanted me to read! Imagine my deprivation. I’m still getting over the pain.
Shit, I don’t know why they rejected my piece for the high school lit magazine.
Jacky Gleason was in black and white instead of fully florid Peacock color. And he was always threatening to smack Alice in the Honeymooners. I think the lack of color did worse for his reputation.
I used to send my child support donation every Christmas up until I moved to Vancouver and changed my name. BTW, we did invent sex.
Thanks for a great one, Ms. Campbell. Where’s the damn remote control? Oh, where’s my hookah? When is someone going to change my bed pan?
With appoligies to Jean Campbell. An Open Letter to Millennials is a great read.
