AS a really trendy, ‘with it’ individual in my very late early thirties, I’m constantly delving into the world of Twitter in an attempt to reach out to the world without actually having to deal with anyone.
It’s important that I’m kept abreast of the latest world news – Trump is trying to buy Greenland… Miley and Liam split… Betty White is still alive.
But in-between these gripping news headlines I find myself mesmerised by the never-ending pseudo-mental anguish of the millennial generation.
Some might classify me as a millennial, but I feel more in sync with the Greatest Generation – self-sacrificing, morally centred, and my back always hurts.
One deeply annoying twitter twatter millennial – when asked why millennials complain so much – responded:
‘Because we watched 3 000 people killed on live television and nothing ever got better.’
I assume he’s talking about the 9/11 terrorist attacks, but I don’t subscribe to all the TV channels, so I can’t be sure.
Reading this response forced me to down even more painkillers than was recommended by my back-alley back doctor, because it was still too early for wine and this idiot was giving me a migraine.
If watching television was the worst thing this nerd had ever experienced, then he should just kiss his androgynous-looking partner and consider himself lucky.
Let’s put it into perspective and consider the poor sod celebrating his 100th birthday this year.
His parents, having had too much celebratory moonshine at the end of WW1, ended up with a bouncing baby boy in the year 1919.
Things were already pretty tough, and now the potato and rock soup they ate once a day would have to go even further.
His childhood was no picnic. Sure, the icebergs weren’t melting and he didn’t have to watch Keeping up with the Kardashians, but life was a challenge.
Hungry? Go find some more rocks to cook. Cold? Go look for the rocks quicker. Want an education? Just walk 20 kilometres along a dirt road – and we don’t have money for shoes. Be careful not to breathe in the asbestos and coal fumes on the way.
Despite the name, the 1930s were not as ‘great’ as they were just really depressing.
But like his fellow generationers, he just put his head down and got on with it. Things started to look up around the 1940s when – bam! World War II, the sequel.
And lucky for this guy, he’s just the perfect age to be enlisted in the army as cannon fodder in the fight against Hitler and his homies.
As one of the lucky ones he manages to survive six years of watching his closest friends being blown sky high – and besides the lifelong PTSD – he’s winning at life.
The next few decades are spent working 9-to-5 in a factory, putting caps on toothpaste for a minimum wage.
His ever-growing family forces him to work harder and longer, but it’s fine, because there is no war.
Except for the Cold War of course – that was a pretty anxious time – but besides the constant threat of nuclear annihilation, life’s a breeze.
He’s miraculously made it to his 100th birthday.
But the threat of nuclear war is back. The Nazis are back. Ice caps are melting and planetary implosion is imminent.
But all this completely pales in comparison to the one true horror he now has to overcome… his great-grandson is a bloody millennial.
