Big Red Car here on the heels of a Texas thunderstorm of respectable proportions. Lightning, thunder, rain, wind — ah, we love the rain this time of year in Texas. Last night we got it. Big time. Let’s talk millennials, shall we?
So the Big Red Car has been thinking about Millennials, particularly the male of the species. They are coming in for a lot of criticism and the Big Red Car wants to provide some helpful suggestions of how y’all might slip the noose and bit. Not a very deep thought but it is Saturday morning.
What is the beef with millennials, Big Red Car?
The millennial male is coming in for a bit of elucidation as it relates to, say, their fear of chalk as evidenced by the wholesale panic set off at Emory University when some wags chalked “Trump 2016” on the sidewalks — in plain view, y’all, plain view — which, in turn, set off a protest that such behavior was a “racist microaggression.”
Yes, a racist microaggression, indeed. Check this link if you doubt the Big Red Car
What is a millennial to do, Big Red Car?
OK, you twisted my arm, here are some suggestions:
In the confusion as to gender, stake out “male” in the male v female v other sweepstakes. Be a man. Use the men’s room. Take a chance, piss in the grass and spray it around. You are a guy and the biggest privilege God gave guys was the ability to piss standing up. Respect, preserve, practice that privilege. [We are speaking metaphorically here. You got that, right?] Man. Up.
Stop watching porn and go meet a nice girl and ask her to do some play acting with you. Stop watching porn. Get a love life. With a girl.
Learn to dance. Learn to dance well. Dance with girls. Dancing is vertical foreplay. Pro tip.
Stop watching television and go back to reading books. It’s OK if the books are on your Kindle or other eReader. It is perfectly fine. But, take a lark and buy an actual paper book (used books are actually the way to go) and read the damn thing.
OK, here’s the other thing about reading — read GOOD books. Read inspirational literature and then use some of that inspiration to do some of the other stuff on the list.
Study American history. Know your tribe. Know this guy. Know how close we came to losing the American Revolution which would have been a really bad thing cause all of us would have become Englishmen though they would have treated us poorly.
Stop with the freakin’ whining. While you’re at it, stop comparing yourself to everyone else.
Newsflash: Someone will always be taller, smarter, better looking, richer, better with the babes, look better in skinny jeans — stop whining. Stop comparing. Get comfortable with yourself. You are UNIQUE. Celebrate that and stop with the whining. Actually, there is nobody exactly like you. Ever. Celebrate it.
Give your genitals a break and ration the skinny jeans. You look skinny and weak and spindly in them anyway but you won’t be able to reproduce — see the note about ceasing the porn obsession above — if you subject your gonads to that much pressure. They are going to rebel. You can wear them a few days a week but take guidance from your nuts. If they hurt, wear baggy khaki shorts for a few days.
On the subject of clothes, give it a rest. Wear what you like but don’t feel compelled to wear the Millennial Uniform. Stop obsessing about your clothes. Khakis, khaki shorts — start there. Polo shirts with real sleeves, short ones. It’s going to be fine.
Shave more often. On the subject of hygiene, let’s increase the frequency dramatically and a slight increase in the intensity. Get up to speed on the theory of deodorant. That stubbly little beardikins your Mom says looks “dirty?” Mom is right.
Entitlement — hey, Millennials, it’s bullshit. You are entitled to nothing. Sure, Bernie’s got you all worked up but your education is your problem. And, you, dear Millennial, are a problem solver. You don’t even have to worry about the freakin’ military draft, so the idea that you’re entitled to anything — pure baloney.
As to entitlement, ask a World War II vet to explain to you what he was doing at your age and then ask him about entitlement. You will enjoy the learning. You will also learn that you can’t hold your grandfather’s or your great grandfather’s jock. But you have the same DNA. Act like it.
Corollary of the entitlement rant — stop blaming the world for your not getting the shit you think you’re entitled to. A lot of this stuff is for sale. You have to get (earn) money to buy it. Go make some money and then buy the shit you want. Stop blaming it on everyone else. Stop demanding that someone else buy it for you. [Bernie didn’t get a job until he was 40. Still doesn’t have a real job, he’s a Senator. He’s the last person to consult about this stuff.]
You are creating a global competition of victimhood and it makes you look like a ………………………………….. victim. You’re not. You’re a man. Write this one down. No more victimhood.
Go do something. Get off your Momma’s couch. Get dressed — note the hygiene comment above. [You can face the day without hair conditioner. Trust me on this one.] GET A JOB.
It will not be the perfect job that you think the Holy Ghost has been working on since the birth of Christ just for you. That may be job #5 down the road somewhere. Just go get a job and make some money and get off Mom’s couch. You’re embarrassing her and you’re ruining her brand. [Yes, Moms have a brand. No, actually, they do not. That’s another thing — everything is not a freakin’ brand. Sheesh.]
As to the couch business, stop sleeping so late. Stop sleeping so long. You don’t need that much rest when your main occupation is ……………….. resting. Get out of the fart sack and get to work. OK, that’s a little harsh, sure. Get up and get out.
Stop feeling like you know everything or that you need to know everything. You’re a twenty-something. You don’t know dick. No twenty-something knows dick. Even the Big Red Car didn’t know dick when he was twenty. Go get a job. Work for a guy named Dick. Learn dick.
And, don’t be so freakin’ insecure and sensitive about everything. Sheesh. You’re like a freakin’ girl. You don’t menstruate, so you don’t get to blame stuff on your own cycle of sensitivity. Girls do. You don’t. You come from the side of the gender pool that used to kill saber tooth tigers and those guys were real badasses which means you, by extension as a relative of killers of saber tooth tigers, are also a badass. Cowboy. The. Fuck. Up. Act like you’re related to guys who used to kill saber tooth tigers. You are.
On this idea that everything goes? No, it doesn’t. The concepts of right v wrong or good v evil — they are real. Stand the fuck up for right. Take a stand. Be a man. When you see something that is wrong, speak up. Get on the side of right and good. Then, stay there. Start with beheadings. Beheadings are wrong, evil. Work from there.
Some smaller stuff for you millennials to consider.
See stuff through to the end. Stop starting stuff, abandoning it, and then going home to play video games. Get in the mix of things and see it through to the end. Stop being a quitter. You think the saber tooth tiger guys could quit, tell the saber tooth tiger they’d had enough, and then go home and play video games? No. Stop being a quitter.
Realize that real opportunity looks funny. It looks like HARD WORK. It often is camouflaged in work clothes. [I would have said “overalls” but you have no idea what that means, do you?] Stop being afraid of hard work.
Stop making faces when shit doesn’t go your way. Stop being such a little bitch who cannot be happy for others. And stop spending all your time talking about what you hate and how someone else got something done because you are a victim. Look for the good in a situation. Celebrate it. Laugh. Smile.
Money. Make it. Save it. Stop pissing it away on expensive skinny jeans that are bad for your long term reproductive health. New flash — things are just things. Whether you have a FitBit or not is not going to make a bit of difference. When you save your money, invest it. Put it away for 50 years and ride that compound interest pony. Make your money work for you like a rented mule. Keep score. Make a damn budget — make the money first. Get that job.
Make a freakin’ plan for your future, please. No plan? Then any outcome is OK. Make a plan, Millennials.
“Oh, no, Big Red Car, that requires me to be an adult,” said the whiny, little bitch Millennial. “I am a Millennial, not an adult. That’s part of the culture. You are wrong here, Big Red Car.”
“No, Millennials, I am not wrong,” said the obnoxious Big Red Car. “Make a plan. Put it in writing. Set some objectives for yourself. Print it out. Show it to your parents. Go accomplish those goals. Goals. Plan. Objectives. Accomplish. Keep score. Now that, Millennials, is some scary shit, no? Do it.”
Here’s the thing, life is not “just around the corner.” Life is that dust angel under your Momma’s couch in the basement which is getting ready to jump down your throat and choke the life out of you. Strike first. Strike hard. Strike. Strike. Strike. For your future, cause today is yesterday’s future. Life is today. You can’t wait on it. It’s here and it isn’t going away.
Stop drinking so much and stop smoking so much weed. First, it’s expensive and, second, you are not even remotely more interesting, creative, sexy when you’re fucked up. You are just an asshole. You can be an asshole much cheaper. Be frugal and stop drinking and smoking so much. Plus, it’s very bad for your health. Even PITA knows that.
Buy a journal. Get a 5mm fine tip black pen. Write down your dreams (sort of like the plan thingy above but different). Look at them the next day. Visualize them. Go make them happen. Warning — it will take work but you are related to the guys who used to kill saber tooth tigers, right? Remember that. [Pro tip: Your relatives wiped out the saber tooth tigers so all you really need to worry about is paper cuts and getting ink on your hands. They did that for YOU.]
One day a month, turn off the smartphone, tablet, ultrabook, laptop, desktop, big screen. Go to a park. Stand in the sun until it begins to burn. Breathe hard. Sweat. Commune with Mother Nature. Do not ask her if you can sleep on her couch cause she will kick your ass.
Write a damn letter to your grandparents, your parents, your siblings, that coach who took an interest in you, your favorite teacher, rabbi, parish priest. It’s OK if the letter is printed but, at least, hand address the envelope. No credit for email. A real letter.
OK, sorry. Just felt like it needed to be said. Now, it’s said and we can get back to our lives but you, dear Millennials, you cannot go back to bed.