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Hey kids, I’m on a cleaning bender lately. Yesterday I cleaned out my work email folders, this morning I’ve been working on unsubscribing from every piece of junk mail that I can in my personal email, and now I’m cleaning out my Google Drive. This is a gem I found stashed in there. Enjoy.

Here’s the scoop kids – I’m a fat, 38 year old woman who lives in the Midwest.  I’ve been married 3 times now.  No kids.  I’m officially feeling old as dirt because the youth of today is just fucking insane.  I also feel old because some of the people I graduated high school with have had their own kids graduate high school this year.  Are you fucking kidding me?  What happened to being 21 and partying all weekend long?  Oh, right – maturity and debt.

Anyway, the youth of today has no real style or panache.  They’re obnoxious and rude.  They have no taste in clothing or music, they probably don’t know what art is, and they seriously don’t get the value of hard work.  I say ship the lot of them to Siberia and let them freeze to death.

Can someone please explain to me why all of these little shits insist on listening to their crappy music at ear splitting volume?  Turning it up full blast does not make One Direction any easier to listen to.  And that bullshit with all the fucking bass – get over it already.  You’re supposed to “feel” music as a stirring inside your soul, not as a physical sensation being caused by ridiculous sound waves.  There’s a reason the military spent time and money investigating the potential use of sonic weaponry.

I swear to all that is holy, the next time I see a dude with his pants “sagging” I’m going to help him out.  By pulling them down the rest of the way.  You want the ladies to have a sneak peek of what they’re missing – just fucking show them already.  Your tiny little prick isn’t going to make any better impression than that 3 inches of dirty drawers you’ve got showing.

I’m working on my second Master’s degree right now.  (Yes, that means I’ll have TWO.)  The class I’m taking has undergrads in it.  There’s a kid that has yet to turn in any work and we’re already halfway through the term.  He keeps telling the prof that he’ll “get to it.”  Dude, you’re PAYING for this shit – get your fucking money’s worth out of it.  Or perhaps his mommy and daddy are paying, hard to say.

But one of these days they’ll learn.  The nights of partying will result in permanent liver damage.  Lovers will come and go.  The ability to hear normal conversations will fade.  They’ll develop a permanent shuffle from not being able to walk properly since the crotch of their pants is hanging at their knees.  And then, in the quiet hours before my 4pm dinner at the nursing home, I’ll laugh.

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