"The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently." -- Friedrich Nietzsche
"Youth is easy to deceive because it is quick to hope." -- Aristotle
I have warned you all.
You have failed to regard my admonition about your stupid offspring, My Minions. They will now pay a hellish price.
But not until after WE pay one.
I've had it with these obnoxious know-nothings who believe they have a right and a cosmic duty to lecture me, a fucking adult, who has a job, who has experienced things they are unaware of, who has information and wisdom they cannot comprehend.
If it isn't a high school dropout with autism and (allegedly) selective mutism (which doesn't seem to be a problem when the cameras are rolling) demanding that I immediately start living like a caveman so that her little retarded ass can "enjoy" a future that will be built upon my accomplishments and money (Greta Thunberg), then it's the other extreme of a dipshit who gained prominence by NOT getting shot and murdered, and who hashed his SAT's so badly that he had to take "a sabbatical" rather than face the embarrassment of going to college and flunking, telling me I should drop my guns and read a book (David Hogg).
And then there are the geniuses I come into contact with in my daily life.
The ones at the office, who have degrees -- so they tell me -- who can't spell, complete a sentence, can't tell time, follow simple directions, or do basic math, and complain about everything but who never DO anything. The ones who seek therapy pets and safe spaces to cry in because you ask for your expected weekly update on the project you gave them two weeks ago and get angry because the answer is "no progress because I don't understand what I'm supposed to do" (last week; "I wasn't in the right frame of mind because my cat died, and I was bummed"), and you ask what used to be considered a logical question:
"Then why didn't you ask me to explain it to you better or ask me for help?"
"I didn't want to get you angry".
What do you think I am now, Sweetheart?
Suffice to say, what I gave Sweetheart two weeks to accomplish, I did in 90 minutes, myself, soon after this conversation.
Sweetheart will not have a job on Monday morning.
But the absolute worst of the lot is the bearded nerdling, full of piss and vinegar (but mostly piss), who is not only proud of his potentially-fatal case of dumfuck-itis, he's defiant in defending his right to be a dumbfuck even in the face of unmistakable evidence that he is, indeed, a blithering idiot.
This motherfucker is full of phony erudition, mostly obtained by osmosis with a book (because he's never actually read one, you see, because "print is dead") and a residency in the play pen of a supposed institution of higher learning ("I went to one of the top schools in the U.S. News and World Report rankings", he'll say, as if that's some sort of distinction or mark of excellence).
This rat bastard insists that up is down, down is up, right is left, left is right, and that if you believe and wish for something to be true -- when Reality says it's not -- then it is. And if you disagree, it's because you're an angry white male with no empathy, and while you may be factually correct, he has the moral high ground because feelz, and at least he has friends.
In other words, I may be stupid, but other stupid people like me more than they like you.
I'm fucking devastated.
It's enough to make you want to beat the ever-loving shit out of the skinny little fuck, but you can't do that. Primarily because it wouldn't be a fair fight -- I'm a 53-year old man with bad knees, who has smoked a pack a day for 37 years, and who is carrying about 40 extra pounds -- while he's an emaciated, malnourished vegan with brittle bones and loose teeth (that gap between the front ones keeps getting wider. You have dental, Stupid. Use it) who has trouble lifting himself out of a chair without a coughing fit (probably from all the THC concentrate you're vaping; you think I can't smell it?) at age 25.
It would be like bashing a terminally-ill kitten with a sledgehammer.
But the real reason why you can't smack this little bag of fucktard around is because, ultimately, it would do no good. His retardation goes too deep for him to learn anything useful from the experience (like, "stop being a bitch; it pisses people off"), and the remote chance that you might -- by sheer accident -- set his bee-bee-sized brain back into the proper hole in his head is not worth the potential jail time.
This jerkoff will not have a job Monday morning, either. His attitude sucks, and he's one of those squirmy little turds who has been programmed to find offense in everything.
It's Friday. He's offended.
The ambient heat is a tad too high/too low for his liking. He's offended.
You gave him work to do. He's offended.
You criticized his work because it had 31 easily-avoidable and easily-correctable errors in it, and he's managed to run aground on all 31, nor bothered to correct any of them before submitting his code for review and testing. All he knows is that you asked for X, he gave you X: you didn't say you wanted it done right, and he had better things to do (which apparently involved something other than the job he gets paid to do) and stop "hassling" him.
The little shit actually SAID that.
So, before I go postal and start eradicating this stain on the Human Race in a way that goes beyond just putting their asses on the unemployment line, I want to make certain I've been addressing the right people concerning this dire problem.
I thought I could appeal to The Adults. I reckoned that anyone over the age of consent, expensively and moderately educated (after a fashion), serious about living up to the standards they all set during the interview process -- I want to have an impact! I want to do something important! I want to be a member of a team of professionals! I want to learn and grow! -- WERE adults, but apparently, they are not.
Oh, yes, the warning signs were always there. Like the daily arguments about the clock:
8:30 a.m. means 8:30, not 8:42, 9:07, or 10:12, and no, I can't change that for you, because then I would have to do it for everyone else. Why is it everyone else can be here before 8:30, but you can't? Does Time work differently for you?
Stop crying. Here's a tissue.
Or the unsolicited opinion delivered at an inopportune time:
Yes, it's good that you have an opinion. When did I ask you for an exposition of "Evil, Crooked Capitalism", though? And did you notice that you're voicing it on pay day? Did the Paycheck Fairy leave this under your pillow, or is an Evil, Crooked Capitalist handing it to you?
Oh, you're offended? I thought you might be. I also don't care.
That offends you more?
Work someplace else, then, Juicebox Lenin.
The barely-concealed insubordination:
Don't roll your eyes at me and insist that I "don't understand"; I'm twice your age. This means I have twice -- at least -- the intelligence, knowledge and experience that you have, Ms.-I-Got-Here-15-Minutes-Ago-And-I'm-Already-An-Expert-In-Everything. I understand far more than you do. I always will. Because you're not that bright.
I'm sorry. You found that sexist? I thought there were no differences between genders, that gender was only a construct that existed outside of physical reality -- that's when when it isn't fluid -- and is not determined biologically, which means there is no such thing as "a woman", and therefore, the term "sexist" is inoperative.
By the way, what is the Pay Gap between all 58 genders nowadays?
The misplaced and entirely-inappropriate enthusiasm that makes you look like a puppy with Down's Syndrome:
Good for you! You've taken an interest in ________. What makes you think that I share it or even care? Was it necessary to have this discussion at the urinals?
What was that? I don't understand the existential threat to life this constitutes? Hey Asshole, I've lived through the Cold War, 50 years of terrorist attacks on New York City, two Mob Wars, race riots, the Son of Sam and five Presidents named Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Clinton and Obama. I not only know about "existential threats", I've experienced them for real. You get them second hand from YouTube and Vice. You lack perspective, Young Douchebag.
I am outrageously sick and thoroughly tired of dealing with people who are illiterate in all senses of the word -- historically, culturally, linguistically, philosophically, politically -- who can only speak in a jumbled jargon of half-digested slogans and piss-poor psychobabble, and most of that emanates from their backsides.
I am definitely worn out having to explain -- over and over and over again -- things that are unalterable facts to people who have been trained to react to being shown to be incorrect by retreating into a bubble of smug indifference and passive-aggressive retorts.
I am ready to burn a building down in response to repeatedly being questioned and hectored by, and lectured to on a variety of subjects The Broken Record has no physical connection to or knowledge of.
He doesn't even know the significance or meaning of the term "Broken Record".
I might choke a bitch if I have to listen to one more overwrought emotional tirade of a 6-year-old-mentality-with-a-diploma who fastens her shoes with velcro or zippers, because tying shoelaces is either "old-fashioned", "representative of White male patriarchy", "oppressive", she's that fucking lazy, or who just never learned.
(I predicted this exact thing would happen some years ago. I'm sad to say my prediction has borne fruit. Tap here).
I might start a chainsaw massacre if I have to hear "but you don't understand how hard it is to be me" one more time.
I am disgusted by self-possessed, clueless, retarded, socially difficult, self-absorbed, conceited, dull-witted, semi-apes who spend their free time hunched over a tiny 6" device in their hands, typing with their thumbs, who haven't yet realized that device gives them access to the collected knowledge of all Mankind, and the only thing they can think to do with it is take a picture of their lunch and sent it to their friends.
"Look at me!I'm eating something! What an achievement!"
And then they cry and contemplate suicide when they don't get any "likes".
I'm sick to bloody death by people who expect to be rewarded for just showing up. Who demand accolades and trophies for doing less. Never mind doing less -- for even pretending to make an effort.
So, no, there is no "Adult" in them to appeal to. These are perpetual children, and they are quite content to wallow in their sewer of fucktard, their cesspit of ignorance, just happy to be mediocre.
Why shouldn't they be?
Everyone they know is exactly the same way.
And since I do not have the patience to raise them properly, like their parents failed to do, and because it's not my job to be camp counselor/minister/therapist/best friend/bartender/shoulder-to-cry-on/father -- because I'm THE FUCKING BOSS, and you work for me, not the other way around -- I'm just going to cut all of the cancerous little bastards out of my life and business.
They can now cry about how they "never got a chance" and how "no one would mentor me", and make excuses about the really bad man who expected RESULTS in return for MONEY and what a monster he is, while they're filling in their unemployment claims.
I'm sure the people at the unemployment office will be far more sympathetic and comforting than I am.
Now, to be fair, this isn't entirely their fault. They've been cheated by parents who saw them as more of something along the lines of a status symbol, or a tax write-off, and an educational establishment that robbed them of their futures and mental faculties while it plundered their bank accounts, and they are -- I hate to use this word, because they use it all the time -- really "victims" of a culture that didn't teach them some important lessons, like:
No one has the right to go through life unoffended. Well-adjusted people with a thought process and experience learn that offense is something that is bound to be given, and it does not pay, too often, to dwell upon it. An Adult deals with it and then moves on.
Achievements are earned, not bestowed. Yes, I understand they set a bad example for you when they handed out your Certificate of Self-Esteem because you managed to sit through the puppet show without wetting your pants, and you've been accustomed to receiving trophies for coming in last, but that is not how Real Life works. Sometimes you fail. Hard. There are no soft landings, and no one, really, cares about your feelings. Especially the people you call "friends". The fact is, those are usually the first people praying for you to fail, so they can scoop up the crumbs when your cookie crumbles.
Life does not take place inside a smart phone. It's happening all around you, and you're missing it, because you're distracted by flashing lights, swiping right, and stupid cat memes. Why do you think I tell you to turn the phones off and put them away before a meeting? Because I know your short attention span is easily interrupted by a buzz, a vibrate, a bell sound, or your Jay-Z ringtones. Put the thing down and experience something that is real, for a change. Maybe you'll learn something more through experience than you will with a Yelp! review.
In any case, I can't relate to adults who aren't here, and I refuse to deal with children.
I will, however, pass on one, last-but-vital tidbit you should know. Take it to heart, and remember it forever.
Until you actually KNOW something, you're an idiot. And you should shut the fuck up. The assumption of knowledge and expertise based on little more than your aversion to remaining silent, or your deadly fear that if you DON'T pretend to be brilliant everyone will ridicule you and believe (more like "discover") you aren't, is not the same thing as possessing either. Learn to listen. Learn to use your head first and your heart last. Don't assume that someone who corrects you, or attempts to guide you, is out to hurt you. Stop worrying about the opinions of other people who are just as stupid as you are.
Understand what responsibility truly means and then strive to be responsible. Responsible people are generally happier, and don't require safe spaces, handfuls of Xanax, or CBD Oil, nor do they demand tampons be put in the Men's Room when they don't have a uterus.
Grow the fuck up, already.
Perhaps loss of your income -- and a refusal by me to give a reference to your next employer, because I can't in good conscience inflict YOU on someone else -- will help you along?
Because neither Bernie nor Lizzie is going to ride to your rescue with "Free Everything and a Pony, too" in the immediate future.