The clue may be in the title. And
that it in itself means this post may not be all that clueless after all. What
am I talking about? More like, who am
I talking about? It’s the generation of insubordinate earphone wearing, moronically
petulant copycat reflections of every other person of a similar age who is the
symbolic ideal of perfection, whom today label themselves students.
I’m specifically talking about
the newly promoted standard of university aged students that are categorised
into hipsters, shabby-sheik skaters, unhygienic experiments from the creators
of the periodic table of elements, and image-conscious cardboard cut-outs of
television personalities, that demonstrate the possibility of being genetically
programmed experiments from the future, symbolising image perfection, and
containing the cerebral capacity of an empty plant-pot.
There is no shortage of surprises from this newly created social sphere, a gene pool seemingly all splurged out from the same seminal fluid strand from a grotesque anti-humanistic creature who had somehow manifested its way through the barricades of perfectly capable Homo-sapiens and encountered a female who’s genetic intelligence was on par with a table cloth, and reproduced on a mass scale what can only be described as being the criminal equivalent of genocide, leaving the future of our very world in these silly hat wearing manifestations who take pride from sending ten Tweets a day referring to their glorified image and posting Facebook status’ about what they had for breakfast.
Their incompetence can only
really be appreciated though once you hear them speak. The full understanding
of their vocabulary can be ratified into a terminology encapsulated by
abbreviations and two syllable words such as, LOL and Okay. A full blown
conversation I encountered recently contained no less than a wishy-washy exchange
between six of these experiments, where it seems a newly formed game of ‘repeat
after me, and pass it on because I’m a dumb fucking numpty’ has become a
popular drinking game amongst the countries next elitist graduates.
‘Hey, OMG!’ one said to the other who turned to them and said ‘Hey. You,’ quite unsure of if that was the correct way to address another person.
Another joined the witty banter
and inputted ‘like, WTF? No-Way! Aint seen you in aaaaaages?’
Three others on-looked in mild appreciation for the level of sophistication shown by the compatriots who were now comparing hair and the contents of a bag which contained a life-sized cut-out of Cheryl Fernandez-Versini – or whatever the fuck her name is now – showcasing a pose that said ‘I attract all the boys with my pearly white implanted teeth and the vividly blank space between my ears’.
A girl who’s lips looked like she
could have plucked them from the inside of a Kinder-Egg, spoke, and I feared
they may have fallen off but for her friend who re-applied a sufficient layer
of pink glossy liquid to them and gave a clear instruction of ‘pout!’ of which
the lippy girl could only comply with.
The further exchanges ranged from
‘Totez Amaze, init?’ and ‘He is lush’, to ‘Haha, look at this’ and all of them
bent over a large oaken table in anticipation of finding something remotely
intellectual to engage with only for it to be a range of pictures of the female
android who encompassed another android device showcasing her in several
different items of clothing, to which her acquaintances could only reply with
‘Aww’, ‘Hot’, and ‘so Ream!’
It’s not just the female
lookalikes either – the penis wearing manifestations are just as bluntly
dumfounded by life – epitomised by their goofy hats that wobble off their
craniums like they’re hiding a cabbage at the back of their heads.
Multitudes of these chronically
placid beings flock in the masses to the scenes of the unwary female
equivalents who are only all too happy to comply with being an obedient objectified
model of sexualised affection, supplying the male gene pool with ample
opportunities to embarrass themselves by staring gormlessly without moderation,
whilst the female pool wave their hair over their shoulders and pout because,
let’s face it, that’s what Cheryl Fernandez-Versini would fucking do.
Conversation never goes further
than ‘Hey’, and ‘Hey yourself’, which seems to be the connecting un-intoxicated
preference to make a simple known desire of unification between the two genders
of manifestations, who will then materialise their relationship beyond two
syllable approximations of eternal undying desire to make an intimate connection
in a public place, only to whole-heartedly deny all knowledge of their
existence within moments after a connection and commence the process all over
again the following day.
In theory, this could be an
experimental wobble in the long scheme of worldly humans, where by some mad
scientist somewhere managed to re-programme the human brain from being a
survival driven species into this erratic fame driven plastic immortal breed of
rabid lookalike’s.
This is my only conclusion, as to the other explanation is that I, among my middle twenty years, have somehow managed to sprout my first dose of integrity that concludes the generation that I preceded have altered in such a way as to which I cannot accept that I myself was once one of these manifestations.
My ever endearing and most
ponderous thought is only to hope that in spite of all that I see of these
blasted intellects driving themselves into being about as useless as a
parachute in space, somehow learn to grasp the ideals of the world and learn that
cabbages can be carried in plastic carrier bags, conversations can leap from
two syllables to at least three, and that maybe, in some way, in the near
intergalactic future, this species will not require to be shipped off to some
undeniably remote place where people who have trouble working a stapler – as
these people do – are sent to live out the rest of their years to avoid
contaminating the rest of human kind into thinking they too can become a silly
hat wearing incompetent manifestation who can only communicate via
abbreviations, FFS!
