Jayar Jackson: The Left Still Has an Anti-Youth Problem

 

Ozzie the Wise, Dementia-Stricken Wizard from "Rainbow Ranch"

 

Callie the Wildfire, Ozzie's Ex-Lover from "Rainbow Ranch"

 

Jerry "The King" Lawler

 

You're Too Old to Rule the World

CHORUS

Of course you never wanted to improve society

Never been so stressed that you questioned sobriety

Got sick at others’ happiness, you had to hurl

You’re too old to rule the world!

 

VERSE 1

You shit on my youth, yet every woman is your mother

Kick your kids out the door, yet you want to be smothered

The room in your nursing home is like a prison cell

Because the family you fucked wishes you were in hell

 

CHORUS

Of course you never wanted to improve society

Never been so stressed that you questioned sobriety

Got sick at others’ happiness, you had to hurl

You’re too old to rule the world!

 

VERSE 2

The world is a different place than centuries ago

If you studied history, then you already know

That we can’t go back to the days of torture

The only personality traits were following orders

You yearn for the past, because you would have thrived

In a country where the have-nots could be unalived

For looking at you funny or saying hi to your honey

For even dreaming of the days of disposable money

 

CHORUS

Of course you never wanted to improve society

Never been so stressed that you questioned sobriety

Got sick at others’ happiness, you had to hurl

You’re too old to rule the world!

 

BRIDGE

It was never about gray hair or sagging tits and skin

It was about all the good shit you considered a sin

If someone smiles too much or gets the love bug

You choke the life out of them with a grip so snug

You do it long enough and you become so smug

‘Cause bigotry and rage are more addictive than a drug

Get a little bit of power and you stomp on all the flowers

We’re keeping our bladders full for your final hour

 

OUTRO

You’re too old to rule the world!

Keep your country’s flag all furled!

You’re too old to fuck the young!

That’s why these lyrics must be sung!

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 2

Lucy could have searched the entirety of Rainbow Ranch up and down and it wouldn’t have done anything but make her lonelier. Not a friend in sight. Not even a piece of driftwood came from that flood. The more she traveled, the harder she hugged herself for warmth. She became dangerously close to creating her own flood with the tears that she held back. Her old fur parents wouldn’t have faulted her for crying. She could have done it all she wanted when she was abandoned on this island with many others. Razor Ripley didn’t want “weakness” in his ranks, but Loki the Skull was even more discouraging of vulnerability due to the insane king that haunted his soul. King Harrison wanted Lucy the Hammer to bear a grudge against her abandoners, but all he succeeded in doing was making her resent him instead.

 

The frosty wind gathering around Lucy did nothing to ease her resentment. “That mean old jerk!” she muttered to herself through shivering breaths. With the power station knocked out, there was nothing to guard against the chilly weather that made Lucy shake harder than any sorrow ever could. She had been wandering aimlessly for so long that she failed to take in her surroundings. There was indeed harsh snow dusting the ground and making the air nip at her fur harder than fleas. “Where am I?” she asked. “Where are my friends? Where’s my tennis ball? I want my mommy and daddy…”

 

With very little meat on her bones (armor notwithstanding), she knew she would perish in this weather and was strangely okay with it. This was what abandonment meant to her. Rainbow Ranch was a lie. Her dumpers were right all along. And as long as Razor Ripley was upset with her, she would never prove them wrong. Debating wasn’t where she excelled in life despite having a yappy bark, which she missed using in the presence of her squad mates.

 

And then…a warm breeze passed over her, putting a tiny smile on her face. The more she felt this, the harder her tail wagged. Lucy yapped and barked as she dashed toward the source of this heavenly heat. Among the uncaring frost was a tiny grotto which radiated a warm orange glow. Hopefully, whoever dwelled in this place was as warm as the heat radiating from within. It would have been easier for Lucy to knock, but her happy zeal carried her past the entranceway regardless, romping inside like a wild stampede.

 

The minute the heat warmed her aching bones, she breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on her butt. There could have been a fire-breathing dragon in this grotto and Lucy wouldn’t have cared as long as she could feel this heat forever. Though the breeze was no substitute for a mother’s hug, it came pretty close. Her eyes widened at the sound of a phonograph playing gentle guitar and violin music. As if the relaxation couldn’t be more blissful, now she was going to be lulled to sleep by the sweet strums of guitar strings and graceful glides of violins. Lucy yawned before placing her paws behind her head and smiling her way into the dreamworld.

 

Her subconscious vacation lasted as long as one of her kibble dinners as a pup. The record scratched and the new age lullaby was replaced by the hisses and growls of an angry cat. Lucy gulped and slowly opened her eyes to see an elderly anthropomorphic cat standing over her. The cat flashed her cutting fangs, balanced a golden knife in her hands, all while hogging the warmth for herself in her orange knitted armor with brown leather boots.

 

“Are…are you Ozzie the Wise?” asked a trembling Lucy before turning her head away in anticipation of a scratch.

 

“Ozzie the Wise is nothing more than a myth,” the cat growled in a feminine voice. “I’m Callie the Wildfire and you’ve crossed into my domain. What makes you think you’re welcome here? This is not a stray shelter. Move along, fleabag!”

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” begged Lucy before nipping up. “You don’t understand! I’m a member of the Shut Up Stupid Dogs! I’m here to help you! There’s a wizard on the loose and…”

 

“And you led him here, didn’t you.” Callie’s arms were crossed, blade still balanced in her paw.

 

“No, no! It’s not like that! You see, my…um…my squad mates were all…” Lucy gulped in an attempt to come up with an answer that never came.

 

“Let me guess: they met a cruel and unfair end at the hands of this wizard,” Callie said coldly.

 

“Um…yes…I mean…I hope not…” The tears were harder for Lucy to fight, but fight them she did.

 

“This is what happens when one of your kings decides to turn perfectly happy animals into monstrosities. This was always the plan for him. You think you’re the only one who misses your mommy? I miss mine too! I never had responsibilities and I don’t want them now. And yet, here you are begging for my help when my generator is sputtering and flickering.”

 

“Please, Miss Callie!” Lucy got on two knees and held her hands together like a prayer. “I can help you fix your generator if you just let me stay a while! Besides, you’re in danger! So is Ozzie the Wise!”

 

Callie tucked her head and turned her back to Lucy. “Ozzie the Wise is a danger to himself.”

 

“What do you mean? You know him?”

 

“I used to. He and I were supposed to be beddy-buddies in our fur parents’ humble home. We did everything together. And then…you know by now what King Harrison did. Ever since then, Ozzie became obsessed with responsibilities that were never his. He learned how to use magic and the more he used, the more his mind shut off. He’s not the man I loved so many years ago. I don’t even know who he is. HE doesn’t even know who he is. If he hasn’t gone down the same path as King Harrison with his insanity, he sure as heck is on his way there.”

 

Lucy stood up and hung her own head. “I’m sorry to hear about that, Miss Callie.”

 

“Don’t feel sorry for me, little pup. Animals never had a say in their own fates anyways, whether we were human-like or not. If our destinies are going to be chosen for us, then at the very least they should be chosen by people who undoubtedly care for us.”

 

“That’s…that’s so sad…”

 

Callie sighed and faced Lucy once more. “When you’re as old as I am, sadness becomes part of the norm. You’re not there yet, but you’ll get there someday. Your joints will ache. Your body will break down. Your mind will cannibalize itself. And then…we all fall down and die.”

 

“Why not speed up the process?!”

 

Lucy and Callie gasped before turning to find those words came from Loki the Skull, lightning swirling his hands and poison dripping from his fangs.

 

“So…you DID lead him here, didn’t you! Foolish oaf!” screamed Callie before she pulled out her knife to confront Loki.

 

“Callie, wait!”

 

It was too late; Callie already engaged her enemy with the fastest of stabs. Her paw blurred and flashed because of this speed, which left Lucy wide-eyed and awestruck. “Cool,” Lucy whispered to herself. Soon enough, her stabs began chipping away a the stone walls of her own grotto. She for sure had victory well within hand…until Loki blasted her with an energy ball and send her crashing into her record collection.

 

Lucy gasped as Callie picked herself up to fight again. But once she saw her records and phonograph destroyed, she collapsed to her knees and trembled in sorrow. “Oh no…no…Ozzie loved this music…and it’s gone…All of it’s gone…” She hugged her possessions and tried her damnedest not to break down in front of her mortal enemy. The last connection she had to her past, gone. All gone. Maybe she really should have “sped up the process”.

 

“YOU BIG FAT MEANIE! I’M GOING TO SMASH YOU GOOD!” An enraged Lucy drew her war hammer and charged at Loki with all of her scrappy might. Spittle flew from her lips like rabies and the warmth of the grotto was replaced with hellfire rage for her sworn enemy. She swung. She smashed. She pounded. She gave the old “one, two, buckle your shoe”…and her hammer went flying once again, jutting into the stone wall.

 

Loki, who dodged every shot Lucy gave, mockingly pulled the hammer out of the wall and dangled it in front of her. “This yours?”

 

“Give it back, you sick little mutt!” Every time Lucy jumped up and reached for it, Loki held it out of her way. Bored with this dog-exclusive game of cat and mouse, Loki zapped Lucy in the chest with a thunder bolt and send her barreling across the grotto. She coughed and wheezed at the damage while Loki continued to taunt her with the hammer.

 

“You want this back? Come get it. It’ll be waiting patiently for you in Ozzie’s home!”

 

“YOU LEAVE OZZIE ALONE, YOU PIG DOG! AND GIVE ME BACK MY HAMMER!” shrieked Lucy.

 

Loki ignored her command and teleported out of sight, black dust following him out.

 

Defeated and humiliated, Lucy dropped to her knees once more and pounded the dirt ground with her fists. “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! Why does he get to have all the magic and all I’ve got is this stupid hammer?!”

 

“Magic?! What’s all this about magic?!” snapped Callie as she stood up to collect herself. “Ozzie the Wise has plenty of magic! He’s beaten King Harrison before and he’ll beat him again! You want your hammer back?! I want my past back! Come on, let’s got them both!”

 

Bewildered, Lucy asked, “So…you’re not mad at me anymore?”

 

Callie placed her paw on Lucy’s shoulder and stretched her claw. “Let me put it this way: I’m madder at King Harrison than I am at you. I’ll deal with you another time. But for now…” She held up a piece from one of her broken records. Lucy gulped in fear, but understood the mission at hand.

Hardcore Hershel

HARDCORE HERSHEL

Get off my lawn or I’ll bury your keister

Explode your noggin like the eggs of Easter

One shell from my shotgun is all it takes

Go and get a job, you millennial snake!

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Calm your ass down, Mr. Hardcore Hershel

You’re sounding like an NRA commercial

I’m just walking along and enjoying the view

Stop being afraid of everything that’s new

HARDCORE HERSHEL

This gun’s been in my family since a million BC

I’ll be damned if it’s taken away by Washington DC

I’ll be damned if you come here looking for a handout

Original Go Fund Me was being a working class standout

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Pump those damn brakes, Mr. Badass Billy

Too much Fox News is making you sound silly

I’ll be on my way if you take your aim off me

If you do, nobody will think of you as a softy

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I forgot what the hell I was jibber-jabbering about

Something about your generation doing dumb shit for clout

Eating Tide Pods and putting Gorilla Glue in your hair

I’d never do those things because I’ve got a brain to spare

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Take it nice and easy, Mr. Army Man Arthur

There’s no reason to make your heart work harder

Not all of us are like that, perhaps none of us are

Your brain is being washed by Boomer Bill Maher

HARDCORE HERSHEL

I fought in every war that this country has waged

I’ve earned my right to bask in my elderly age

Knowing that you kids will inherit this world

Makes me want to double over and unleash some hurl

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

Slow the fuck down, Mr. Bullet Bubba-Bob

You can’t live forever whether you like it or not

Just raise the minimum wage and forget my age

Let someone else have the spotlight on the stage

HARDCORE HERSHEL

You’ll have to pry this gun from my cold dead hands

You’ll have to spray my red blood across the land

When was the last time you fought a war in the sands?

I’m the king of the hill and you don’t stand a chance

SOFTCORE SEBASTIAN

I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t want any trouble

And for you that goes double, Mr. Barney Rubble

BOOM!

HARDCORE HERSHEL

The world is mine! The world is all mine, you whippersnapper!

HEART ATTACK NOISES

FINAL LINE

And this, boys and girls, is why we can’t have nice things. The end!

Buy Buy Buy

 Here’s a million bucks, go fuck your friends

Here’s a million more, put their lives to an end

Here’s another thousand, sell out your country

Who cares where it comes from? It’s just money

It’s an ultimatum of the very worst kind

A mediocre life is about all you can find

Maybe homelessness is what you’ll get

All my CEO friends have a running bet

Here’s a million bucks, look into the camera

Here’s a million more, sell out your grandma

Here’s another thousand, sell out your minority

Money talks and it’s your only authority

We can buy celebrities for pennies on the dollar

Buy politicians and make them hoot and holler

Buy the police and give them palms full of grease

Buy, buy, buy, it’s an addiction and disease

Here’s a million bucks, don’t give it to the poor

Here’s a million more, don’t shop at little stores

Here’s another thousand, give it all to charity

Tax loopholes are written with such clarity

Ever hear about The Man Who Sold the World?

He gave it to us for the price of diamonds and pearls

We’ve got whole countries sucking our dicks

They come to us when they need a cabinet pick

Here’s a million bucks, go buy the universe

Here’s a million more, go empty your purse

Here’s another thousand, bring aliens to their knees

Business is booming, we buy debts and fees

Whoever said money is the root of all evil

Isn’t hanging out with all the right people

It’s a big ass club only a select few can join

If you’ve got the power, we’ve got the coin

But the younger generation already knows

We’re full of shit and it certainly shows

But what can they do about the world burning?

Oh yeah, our failures are what they’re learning

No Country For Old Farts

Dr. Wily finally had Mega Man right where he wanted him. The mad scientist had to admit his foe had serious mechanical balls for scaling his skull tower to the tippy-top. All the metal dragons that breathed fire on him. All the construction helmet gizmos that frustrated the hell out of him with their cheap tactics.

And yes, all of Dr. Wily’s maverick hunters had another shot at their blue-suited rival, whether it was Elec Man zapping him into next week, Bomb Man blasting everything to pieces, or Guts Man throwing hunks of metal at Mega Man with the ease of snowballs. Even after all of that, Mega Man was rocking and rolling with his arm cannon charged up and aimed directly at Dr. Wily’s massive robotic horse.

The mad scientist’s poofy white hair and lab coat blew backwards in the breeze created by his fired missiles. Mega Man blasted nearly all of them out of the sky except for one that exploded right up his “iron diaper wearing ass”. Dr. Wily pulled a few levers and had the horse breathe more flames onto Mega Man. And then more missiles were fired. And then electrical bolts shot out of the horse’s eyes.

Mega Man’s wires and pieces were jutting out of his wrecked body, especially his now crippled legs which wouldn’t take him to safety anymore. He laid there in a pile of metal and mechanical shit waiting to be squashed by the robotic horse’s hooves. Dr. Wily’s eyes beamed with deranged excitement. He smiled the creepiest pedophile smile he could. He rubbed his hands together as he prepped to deal the final blow to his lifelong rival. And then…

“Wily…Wily…WILY!”

That final cadence awakened him right as he was ready to stomp on the last remaining pieces of Mega Man’s battered body. Only he didn’t achieve victory. The only violent mess he caused was in his bed, puke covering his moustache, beard, and what passed for clean white sheets in this hellhole of an elderly prison. Dr. Wily gazed around with puffy red eyes and knew full well he had woken up into another nightmare. He was no longer the vile, cunning mad scientist that the world had grown to fear. His robotic warriors had since been blasted into scrap metal…and he had since been committed to a retirement home to live out the rest of his miserable existence, complete with a thin body and a sensitive stomach.

Dr. Wily’s stomach was the only sensitive part about living in this white-walled shithole. The overweight nurse with a pugnacious mug, crossed arms, and thinning blond hair could be described with any word but sensitive. Nurse Cassie North stood over his bed with a disgusted scowl on her face and fists balled so tightly they could snap anybody’s neck. The broken down mad scientist could do nothing in her presence but cower under the puke-laden blankets.

Cassie ripped off the sheets and revealed a trembling eighty year old in striped red pajamas underneath. She leaned in and growled, “What did I tell you about making my job harder than it has to be?” No response, just more shaking from Dr. Wily. She continued, “You think I enjoy cleaning up your disgusting puke? You think that makes me happy? I could be at home right now with my kids. I could just leave your ass here to die and feed you nothing at all. Is that what you want?” Still no response. She grabbed his arm with skin-purpling tightness and rolled up his sleeve, holding a hypodermic needle with the other hand.

“No! Leave me alone! You can’t do this to me!” quivered Dr. Wily as he squirmed in a vain attempt to get away.

“HOLD STILL, GODDAMN IT!” He did. “Your days of being a terrorist douche bag are over, old man. This ain’t no country for old farts. I don’t have time for your precious little pipe dreams. You’re not a doctor. You’re a broken down piece of amphibian shit! Now stay still while I jab this motherfucker in your arm. Don’t make me force it in you this time.”

Cassie and Dr. Wily had different ideas of what constituted force. He screamed for a bit once the needle was jabbed in his arm, but then relaxed in his messy bed drooling and teary-eyed.

“There we go. Nice and comfy. Maybe this time you’ll have dreams about making my life a little easier here at this dump of a nursing home. God, I can’t wait to retire. You little piece of shit.” Cassie stomped out of the room and left Dr. Wily to drain his eyes and saliva glands even further, numb state and all.

This was how things were going to end for Dr. Wily. He was a broken shell of his former self. He went from creating the most threatening robotic warriors the world had ever seen to wallowing in his own biological sludge. Never again would he have a shot at defeating Mega Man and achieving world domination. Never again would he be feared as the iron-fisted badass he once was. If he would have led a clean life free of violence and terror, would he still end up in this crappy nursing home? Would he still be subjected to the same white walls, the same boring schedule, the same dementia, and the same sloppy food that reminded him too much of what he was laying in currently?

A loud bang interrupted his glazed-over thoughts and widened his droopy eyes. “Could it be?” he asked nobody in particular. “Are they here?...No…nobody’s coming for me. Why would they? Just kill me already…Just let me die peacefully…”

“That’s not an option, Master Wily,” said a tough feminine voice. This voice wasn’t as husky or brutal as Cassie North’s was. It at least had some tenderness to it. Was it another nasty-tempered nurse? Was it someone finally coming to put him out of his misery? No. Dr. Wily opened his eyes and saw the voice came from his own creation, Stardust Woman. There she stood; six feet of metallic beauty, complete with an arm cannon, star-shaped armor, and the most lovely red eyes a robot could possibly have.

Standing next to Stardust Woman was another creation of Dr. Wily: Slaughter Man. Judging from his navy blue Viking armor, massive spiked hammer, and bulky body, it must have been him who created the loud thrashing noise. The walls were definitely cracked and shattered enough. Why weren’t the other patients screaming in horror? Were they so out of it that they couldn’t feel fear anymore, just like Dr. Wily himself?

Slaughter Man held his hammer high in the air and proudly declared, “We’re here to break you out of here, Master! We still have a chance at defeating that squirmy little bastard Mega Man!”

“…I’m sorry…” wheezed Dr. Wily. “I can’t make it anymore. I don’t want to fight Mega Man again. I’m aching all over. I’m tired as hell. Can you just do me a favor and smash me over the head with your hammer? I don’t want to live anymore.”

Stardust Woman scowled at Dr. Wily and folded her arms, just like Cassie did earlier, but with more concern in her posture and voice. “What happened to you, Master? This isn’t the Dr. Wily who built us with his own genius. You’re going to give up just like that? We’re practically gifting you an exit from this place. You can at least live out the rest of your days in your laboratory. Anything is better than this dump.”

“…You’re…you’re not even real…neither are you, Slaughter Man…I’m dreaming again…If Cassie catches me dreaming again…she’ll beat me…”

Slaughter Man pointed his hammer at his broken master and shouted, “Who gives a shit what that fat whore thinks?! Give me five minutes alone with her and I’ll smash her body all over the goddamn floor! You’re worth a hundred of her, Master Wily!”

“…No, I’m not…I’m worthless…I’m going to die anyways…I could never beat Mega Man before…and I can’t do it now…Please…just leave me here to die…Don’t drag this out any further than it has to be dragged out…”

As Slaughter Man growled and seethed in the background, Stardust Woman sauntered over to Dr. Wily and held his frail, bony hand in hers. Not even that would restart the old man’s heart, but hopefully her words would. “Let me tell you something about Cassie North and the rest of these sycophantic nurses and orderlies. They’re tough when it comes to dealing with fragile old people, but once they come face to face with a couple of your creations, all the courage is gone. Cassie North will sing a different tune once she sees what we’ve got for her.”

Just when Dr. Wily formed the tiniest smile, when the smallest glimmer of hope shined in his damp eyes, a meaty hand grabbed Stardust Woman by the skull and slammed it against Slaughter Man’s oversized head, dizzying both robots. Cassie put both of them in headlocks and held them there while she berated Dr. Wily some more.

“What did I tell you about your silly fantasies, old man? They don’t mean shit here. Your robots are just glorified tin cans. And you? You’re mediocre at best and a shit stain at worst. You terrorized the planet and failed. I’ll be damned if you fuck with my vacation!” She slammed Stardust Woman and Slaughter Man’s heads together again…and again…and again…each time drawing scratchy shrieks from their now former master. Once they were dizzy enough, Cassie heaved Slaughter Man’s hammer like it was nothing and smashed his heavy chest in with repeated blows. Stardust Woman fired off lasers from her cannon, but was obviously too disoriented to aim correctly. Cassie jerked her cannon arm behind her back and fired lasers up her ass, dismantling her with a war scream.

Dr. Wily cried one more time as he watched the last of his creations get easily wrecked by an ordinary woman. Maybe there was some truth in her painful rhetoric. Maybe he was deserving of the insults. Maybe dying was the only answer after all. Cassie seemed to agree as she breathed heavily and marched over to the foot of the bed after discarding the robots’ bodies like the junk they ended up being.

“I am tired of your horseshit, Doctor, and I use that title loosely. You need to know when to give up. You need to conform just like every other sad sap in this nursing home. If not, I could just kill you and write you off as natural causes. I’m sure the head doctor wouldn’t mind, the REAL doctor, by the way. Face it, Wily: you can’t win. You never could. Your imagination is shit, just like whatever’s in your pajama pants.”

Dr. Wily gazed his sore eyeballs at the needle in Cassie’s belt. Surely, that would be enough to put him down and end this madness once and for all. He had nothing left to lose. His soul was gone. His robots were trash. His mind was deteriorating with images of Cassie North mocking him with her angry tone. It was his time to go and let Mega Man escape with yet another victory.

“If it’s my time to go…and I can’t take my creations with me…I’ll find something else to take to the grave…” Wily snorted and sniffed.

“And what would that be?”

“…Your dead ass!” Using his last bit of elderly strength, Dr. Wily pulled the needle from Cassie’s belt and stabbed her in the throat with it, pressing down on the plunger afterwards. Cassie sang a different tune, alright. Her eyes bulged with the horror of her own mortality. Her mouth bled buckets. Her husky grizzly bear voice was nonexistent. Her thick legs could no longer hold her even thicker body.

Once she dropped to the linoleum ground, Dr. Wily’s mind went from empty to insane as he looked into her dying eyes. This wasn’t dementia overriding his “mediocre” creativity. This was a full on stream of rage. He got out of bed and kneeled beside her, pulling the needle out with savage force. He stabbed her in the throat again. And in the eyes. And in the face. He stabbed her over and over again until she was unrecognizable. No longer was he the silly scientist who always lost. He finally did something with his life worth commending: ridding the world of someone who was more villainous than he was.

He kept stabbing and stabbing as other orderlies rushed to save their fallen friend. They pulled him off of her and he just went limp with a smile on his face. Slaughter Man and Stardust Woman were never there to begin with, hence why the white walls were still whole. As Dr. Wily was no doubt being dragged to his death, it didn’t bother him that his work was incomplete. There were more orderlies and nurses here that deserved a brutal stabbing. All Dr. Wily could do was send a message to everybody here: the real villains weren’t the mad scientists and kooky robots. They were the humans who pretended to be more than pond scum. Dr. Wily was okay with that.

Oswald

I see you everyday sleeping your life away

Losing time again, can’t convince you to stay

Your legs are so weak you can’t stand up

Is this your way of saying you’ve had enough?

I’ll miss you dearly on the day that you pass

I’ll miss your chubby belly, so much mass

I’ll miss you rolling over on your back

I’ll miss you munching on a chicken snack

Miss your precious face, expressions so sweet

Miss your pretty eyes, close them as you sleep

The Rainbow Bridge is waiting for you

Make lots of friends for me, old and new

I hope your life was one worth living

My love for you was well worth giving

One of these days, we’ll cross paths again

Even in death, you’ll be my sweetest friend

Until next time, my Buddha-bellied feline

Until next time, my little oinking swine

Soon you will be free of your elderly pain

You’ll be missed so much, our eyes will rain

Losing fuzzy friends never gets easier

Reincarnate one day into someone beefier

Bitter Old Man

VERSE 1

The good old days are never coming back

So why do you keep going on the attack?

Technophobic rants don’t stand a chance

Nor millennial bashing and budget slashing

The young will inherit this mother earth

No sense in letting your teary eyes burst

Why all the rage over somebody’s age?

Progression is natural, so is worldwide change

CHORUS

Bitter old man! X4

VERSE 2

Fork over the keys to your corporation

Broadcast it on every cable news station

Life is short and nothing lasts forever

Life washes away in this rainy weather

You can’t blame everything on the young

So keep ageist vitriol off of your tongue

Scream any louder and you’ll pop a lung

Your radio hits will forever be unsung

CHORUS

Bitter old man! X4

BRIDGE

We are the rebels, we are the warriors

We shout it down every single corridor

You can’t keep us down however you try

You’ve got shit running down your thigh

VERSE 3

We open our email and eat our kale

Cheer when bankers get put in jail

Save the earth for the very last whale

No mega power is too big to fail

Stereotypes, they’re your only hype

You think we’re easy pickings so ripe

Call us snowflakes, say our news is fake

Little do you know this world is ours to take

CHORUS

Bitter old man! X4

Italian Stallion

Let’s bookend this crazy twenty-eighteen

With the cutest fuzz ball you’ve ever seen

The sweetest old man to walk the earth

The reason for my happiness and rebirth

His name is Emilio, the Italian Stallion

Bouncy like Tigger, sleepy like Valium

His interests include cuddling and snuggling

Whether I’m happy with life or struggling

The year before, three fur babies passed

I never thought it could happen so fast

Maggie the saggy-jowled Springer Spaniel

Watching her die was more than I could handle

Sitka was a kitty called the Queen of Halloween

Now her spiritual essence will forever fly free

Smokey loved to sleep on my comfy bed

Now she permanently rests her fuzzy head

While nobody could replace these beautiful souls

Somebody had to patch up my heart full of holes

Emilio the sweetie pie would come to my aid

Though at first he was timid, lonely, and afraid

It took some pettings and cradles in my arms

No longer would he come into danger or harm

Safe from the streets, cozy under my roof

Love is very real and Emilio is living proof

May he spend his days happy and relaxed

To a homeless life, he’ll never ever go back

Welcome to my home, welcome to my bed

Feel free to rest your fluffy old kitty head

No More

Your macho bullshit doesn’t work anymore

Check your massive ego at the front door

Before you tell anybody to suck it up

Take your own advice, then shut it up

The twentieth century is gone forever

The day you’ll get it back is fucking never

No more beatings with a leather strap

No more secretaries sitting on your lap

No more black people doing your chores

No more Indians getting killed in wars

No more drill instructors shouting in ears

No more suppressing our flooding tears

You can’t blame it all on a whole generation

Unless you yearn for the days of segregation

Unless you’re living in the Middle Ages

Unless cave paintings are your only pages

Self-esteem is what we need to survive

Happiness is what makes us feel alive

Just because you’re dead on the inside

Doesn’t mean you have to tan our hides

Just because you can’t use a computer

Doesn’t mean you can stop the future

If you’re really that angry and bitter

Maybe I should hire you a babysitter

Maybe that’s why your kind wears diapers

Not because you’ve eaten too much fiber

No more bigotry, no more agony

No more screaming, no more insanity!

Ground Control to Uncle Tom

(A parody of millennials who bash their own generation in the style of “Space Oddity” by David Bowie.)

Ground Control to Uncle Tom

Ground Control to Uncle Tom

Take your Viagra and put your Depends on

Ground Control to Uncle Tom

Commencing aging, glasses on

Check your prostate, and may grandma be with you

This is Ground Control to Uncle Tom

You’re inciting ageist hate

And the youngsters want to know whose loafers you wear

Now it’s time to leave the comfort of your rocking chair

This is Uncle Tom to Ground Control

I’m slipping on the floor

And I’m dizzy in a most peculiar way

And my head is in the clouds every day

For here

I am eating from a tin can

Disconnected from the world

Millennials are here

You can do nothing, my dear

I’m out of touch by a hundred thousand miles

I’m feeling very ill

And I think my scooter knows which way to go

Tell my grandkids I love them very much

They know

Ground Control to Uncle Tom

Your hearing aid’s dead, there’s something wrong

Can you hear me Uncle Tom?

Can you hear me Uncle Tom?

Can you hear me Uncle Tom?

Can you hear?

I am eating from a tin can

Disconnected from the world

Millennials are here

You can do nothing, my dear

Anti-Millennial Bigotry

***ANTI-MILLENNIAL BIGOTRY***

I’m not a confrontational person by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t talk about politics on a frequent basis and I dread getting in debates with people. However, as someone who was born in 1985, I feel like if I don’t write this blog entry, it’ll be a missed opportunity to put myself out there. This is a sensitive topic for me, so bear with me for a minute. I’m talking of course about ageism, particularly against people born in the 80’s and 90’s a.k.a. Millennials.

Being a Generation Y member should never be associated with laziness or selfishness. Those are stereotypes based on limited information. Some Millennials fit the stereotypes, some don’t, just like with any other group of people. It’s like saying all black people love fried chicken or all gay people think about sex 24/7. Again, those are stereotypes and they don’t apply to everyone. Yet ageism against young adults seems to slip through the cracks and is widely accepted by both liberals and conservatives of older generations. They see some of us texting on our phones and think the entire population is suddenly doomed.

No generation is without their own set of stereotypes. For example, I could easily label Generation X members as whiny drug addicts or Prozac chugging slackers, but I’m not going to say any of those things, because I’m not an asshole. I could also say Baby Boomers and Great Generation members are a bunch of boring storytellers who can’t shut up about walking 100 miles in the snow, but again, that would make me an asshole and that’s not who I am. So why would it be okay to say that every millennial on this planet is a self-important text-messaging queen? Every last one of them? Not just some? Not just a few? All of them?

As a millennial myself, I do admit to fitting in with at least SOME of the stereotypes against us, but not because my birth year was magically selected to be 1985. I’m open about the fact that I’m unemployed and live with my parents.

I’m not unemployed because I’m lazy and therefore don’t want a job. I’m unemployed because after sending my resume to a bunch of different work sites and doing countless interviews, the bosses still said no. It happens a lot, especially since millennials hit their pique during the Bush-era recession. Older people love to blame laziness, but that’s simply not true. Truth is, you can dress in your nicest clothes, you can work your hardest, you can give the most agreeable answers, and give 100% of yourself during an interview, but in the end, you, the Generation Y member, are not the one who makes the decisions in the workplace. Otherwise, unemployment wouldn’t be a major stereotype for my generation. If we could work, we would. We know full well that money isn’t everything, but it is something.

I don’t live with my parents because of financial worries. I live with them for two main reasons. One, I love being in their company. Two, we have a symbiotic relationship where we help each other. As Baby Boomers, my mom and step-dad can’t do as much physical labor as they could in their younger years. My mother has hip and knee problems that she can only find relief from on a temporary basis. My step-dad Dale has been battling a kidney stone since the last month. While I don’t enjoy heavy lifting or any other kind of strenuous labor, I do it because I love my parents and I don’t want them to get hurt. If you can’t take care of each other, who can you take care of? It’s natural to want to surround yourself with people who make you feel good and that’s something that spans all generations.

While I’ll always condemn people who unfairly criticize young adults for laziness and entitlement, there is one thing I will share common ground with them on: smart phones. I agree with the idea that being in real world company should trump text messaging or playing videogames on a smart phone. It’s a basic form of respect. Corey Taylor from Slipknot once smacked a phone out of someone’s hands during a performance because that audience member was texting instead of watching the show. I grinned from ear to ear at Mr. Taylor’s display.

I myself don’t need a smart phone for anything that my desktop computer can do better. I have a generic cell phone that I only use for emergencies, whether it’s bumming a ride or needing to know where a family member is. And before you criticize me for not having my own car and therefore being a lazy millennial, I should let you know that crashing on the highway and spreading one’s guts all over the tarmac isn’t a pleasant experience for any age group.

Millennials are just like any other group of people in this world. Some are good, some are evil. Some are smart, some are dumb. Some are happy, some are sad. There will always be standouts who defy stereotypes no matter what group of people you’re talking about. George Carlin, a member of the Great Generation, is definitely not a droning storyteller; he’s one of the funniest comedians of all time. The main cast of the new Ghostbusters movie are not a bunch of bikini-wearing sex machines; they’re normal women who do extraordinary things in their movie. Q-Tip, a born-again Muslim rapper, is not secretly plotting to blow up buildings with a suicide vest; he’s putting out kick-ass music and helping younger rappers get noticed.

While ageism should be recognized as being like any other form of bigotry, it somehow became normal along the way. Bill Maher, a liberal-libertarian pundit, once called ageism “The last acceptable prejudice” and then turned around and referred to Millennials as “Generation Ass” because he saw a picture on Twitter of a woman with a giant posterior. Ageism has become one of those things that spans many belief systems and cultures while no real progress is being made against it. There are even members of Generation Y who criticize their own age group.

I don’t know how young people ageism became acceptable, but I can assure you that it has nothing to do with all of this sweet technology and “free shit” we have. No generation wants to pass the torch to the next. I even had a hard time passing the torch to Generation Z because of all the Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez songs that were being published. Reina, my Generation Z niece, doesn’t fit those stereotypes because she’d rather listen to bands like Breaking Benjamin and 3 Doors Down. That’s right, folks. I used to be just another ignorant ageist myself. And then I posted a 2009 essay where I joked about ruling over teenagers with an iron fist if I ever became an English teacher. That didn’t go over too well with the Deviant Art community, because surprise, surprise, ageism is just as bad as any other form of prejudice. As we all know, prejudice isn’t just insulting, but it can hurt us on an even deeper level whether it’s with employment, police treatment, or social status.

I’m going to ask something that’s been asked many times before, but nobody gave a definitive answer to. Can’t we all just get along?

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when a McDonald’s employee goes berserk?

A: Minimum rage.

Ottie-Doo

The Skull Hammer Cult walked the Earth in search of the ultimate paradise and somehow landed in the backwoods area of Paulson City. Their official church was an old schoolhouse from the 1800’s, a one-classroom compound with broken pieces of wood holding it together and stale red paint coming off in flakes. There used to be a beautiful golden bell at the top of the steeple, but it had since been replaced by the symbol of the Skull Hammer Cult, which was an iron skull minus a jaw with a sledgehammer going through its cranium.

Inside this official church, children ranging from little ones to teenagers were sitting in their desks praying and dancing around like creepy little puppets, waiting for their master to return. Randy Fender, the cult master in question, dredged through the front door carrying what appeared to be a dead cat. Its mouth was bleeding and one eye was hanging out of its socket. Instead of being frightened by this, the children’s eyes lit up like Christmas bulbs as they clapped their hands happily at their masters arrival.

Randy, dressed in a smelly blue mechanic’s jumpsuit and a black demon mask, approached the center of the schoolhouse and laid the dead cat on the altar, its rancid corpse making the ugly Skull Hammer symbol even worse to look at.

Mr. Fender looked among the children and said, “Do you see this? This, my brothers and sisters, is what we’ve been looking for this whole time. Not just a source of tonight’s delicious meal, but this wicked creature holds our key to salvation. This cat is imbued with magical powers, powers that once possessed can make us stronger than we’ve ever been. No mere mortal shall stand in our way to paradise. Wait no longer, children. Take the first bite!”

The hypnotized children waved and wiggled their fingers over the cat’s corpse, as if to anticipate how this magical feast will taste to their young palettes. And then the cat’s body began to glow in a mystical purple aura, which made the little ones even more excited than they already were.

They were forced to take a few steps backward, however, when the cat corpse came to life and stood on all four paws. After letting out a long-winded yawn and popping her eyeball back in its socket with her fuzzy paw, the kitty looked around the schoolhouse to see what all the hubbub was about.

“Yes! This is exactly the proof we needed!” shouted an exhilarated Randy. “I knew I picked the right one! I knew it the minute I laid eyes on this poor tortured pussycat!”

The cat gave a confused look and said, “What the hell are you talking about, you whack job? I’m not a poor tortured pussycat. I’m the kitty sage Ottie-Doo. Call me Ottie for short.”

“Wow!” said one of the children. “She can talk!”

Randy grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and sternly warned him, “Remember what I said when I first met you: don’t speak until spoken to, little one!”

“Put that boy down, you monster!” yelled Ottie before she waved her paw and threw a green lightning bolt at Randy Fender’s hand, the sharp pain causing him to yelp and let go.

“So, you’re not only a magical kitty who can talk, but when you do talk, you’re a total smart-ass! I don’t like your attitude, little kitten. These children know better than anybody what happens to little smarmy-mouthed wise-asses in my Skull Hammer Cult. Children? Show this precious feline what I’m talking about!”

“Wait!” shouted Ottie. “Do you children really want to listen to this man? Look at him! He’s less than human! I’m a dingy old cat myself, so that’s saying a lot! Seriously, what do you young ones see in this disgusting man?!”

No response from the children, only wild red eyes and drooling mouths. Randy said, “You were saying, little kitten?”

“Do what you wish to me, demon man, but no harm shall come to these children!” threatened Ottie-Doo.

The kids laughed in throaty, monstrous voices as they closed in on the kitty with their arms stretched out like zombies. The witch kitty floated in the air with pink stardust fluttering underneath her. The kids stared in awe as she flew around the schoolhouse showing off her magical powers. Her biggest trick yet was forming a ball of orange electrical and fiery energy in her paws and chucking it at Randy Fender’s demonic face.

If the cocky cult leader wasn’t wearing a mask, he would be showing off his creepy confidence as he grabbed a nearby child and used him as a human shield. The magical ball exploded the small child, but not into blood and guts. Instead the little boy turned into a pile of maggots, worms, and beetles. It was a sight that made Ottie-Doo watch on in shock and horror as she floated near the ceiling.

“You can’t save these children, witch cat,” said Randy. “They’ve been converted to my minions a long time ago. So many tearful parents are wondering right now if they’ll ever get their children back. Maybe they will someday. But then again, when your body is loaded with parasitic creatures, would any parent want you back in the first place?” The evil cult leader laughed his head off.

The louder and throatier Randy laughed, the angrier it made Ottie-Doo. Her fuzzy paws were curled into fists of fury and her old lady teeth were cracking underneath her jaws. A cyclone of blue lightning and wind encircled her as she prepared for her next magic spell. Randy was already one step ahead of her when he knelt down to peel back a floor board and pulled out a gigantic battleaxe, which was also glowing with blue energy.

“Just to show you how far gone these children are, Miss Ottie-Doo, let me show you just how much they’re willing to sacrifice to make me stronger!” With that said, Randy held out the glowing battleaxe and one by one the children dissolved into a puddle of worms. The worms crawled all around Randy and were gathering around the metal axe, the blade absorbing their spiritual essences. This horrific sight struck even more fear and doubt in the heart of Ottie-Doo as her magical energy was dwindling and she was sinking to the ground below.

She hung her elderly kitty head feeling like a failure to these poor children. Then again, if they were made of worms and maggots, maybe their childlike forms were merely a mind game. So many thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to wrap her head around what this Randy Fender asshole was doing.

She couldn’t take too long to think, however, as she dodged out of the way in the nick of time when the blade came crashing down. Big Randy swung that battleaxe like a berserker, shattering every piece of wood he hit into sawdust. Ottie bounced around and dodged every single shot. She even found herself running along the walls just to avoid getting slashed with this magical weapon.

“You’re gonna die, bitch! You’re gonna die badly!” screamed Randy when he took off his demon mask and revealed the face of a hideously scarred and tattooed psychopath. The sight of his hideous face made Ottie curl up into a ball of fear as her eyes leaked with salty tears. She didn’t feel like she could fight such a monster anymore. He was too big, too fast, and too monstrous. Ottie was just an elderly cat who literally slept like a corpse.

Randy charged over to a cornered Ottie with the blade held high. With one final swing, he was going to break this “annoying” cat into a million pieces. But just as the blade came crashing down, Ottie had one last hope for victory. Randy’s attacks were relying solely on reckless momentum. Therefore, Ottie used telekinesis to use his own momentum against him. Instead of cutting through the elderly witch kitty, the axe took a magical detour into Randy’s stomach.

The cult master never saw this coming behind his own rage. The spirits of dead children were flying out of his body and out of his axe while the ultra-evil Randy Fender melted into a puddle of maggots and worms himself. The parasites dissolved into little puddles of blood and the last of the children spirits flew away into the night sky. With just one small opening, Ottie-Doo ended this battle.

But at what price? Those kids were beyond help. Whatever Randy Fender did to them would put a strain on the parents forever. All Ottie could do was tuck her head and meow softly to herself. She won the battle, but lost the war.

Just when she was about to spend this evening in a crying slumber, she felt a gentle touch on top of her kitty head. Ottie looked up and saw one of the spirit children smiling a beautiful smile at her, just like all children should. In no uncertain terms, the child spirit had only one thing to say to her savior: “Thank you!”

"Batman: The Dark Knight Returns" by Frank Miller

“Age is just a number.” We hear this phrase being thrown around a lot and only half the time does it actually stick. In the case of Batman coming out of retirement, once again, the reader finds himself riding the fence. At 55 years old, Bruce Wayne has slowed down dramatically. Considering that Gotham City has become a dystopian hellhole, the city needed Batman whether he was 55, 75, or even 100. Somewhere along the path of old age, Batman had become more violent and disturbing in his approach to fighting crime. He probably had to be in order to keep up with both father time and the dystopian world in which he lives, where crime breaks out on every street corner and every building in this city. And guess what? The Joker had not missed a step since passing into the elder end of his life. If anything, he too had become more sadistic and disgusting in his approach to violent behavior. When mixing the concepts of old age, rampant crime, and questionable justice, Frank Miller delivers with “The Dark Knight Returns”. And yes, it is a fast read, the short page count not withstanding. But anytime the name Frank Miller’s name comes up in conversation, so does the gigantic elephant in the room. An elephant so huge that he can’t even hide behind corporate buildings. Of course, I’m talking about Miller’s comments toward the Occupy Wall Street movement, referring to the protesters and “pond scum” and “rapists”. If you go to my post about “All Cats Have Asperger Syndrome”, you’ll see a little kitty joke I made at the end with an Occupy punch line. In case that alone doesn’t lend itself to what I think of Miller’s comments, then here it is. He’s done a hell of a job with “The Dark Knight Returns” and “Batman: Year One”, but his comments about the Occupy movement are disgusting as hell and I’m glad Alan Moore, the creator of Watchmen, had the sense to call him on that. If Frank Miller can continue to make awesomely violent comic books with a dark edge, then I promise to separate his work from his personal politics. I’m an atheist who listens to Skillet, so I think I’ll do just fine in ignoring political views I don’t agree with.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“New rule: wing nuts have to stop saying they’re going to boycott Oreos because they made a gay cookie. In fact, this giant blob of vegetable oil and corn syrup is the perfect symbol for gay pride, because when I look at it, I’d rather have a dick in my mouth.”

-Bill Maher-