I would be the one pretending to sing into a highlighter.
Do NOT miss the stonewashed, pleated jeans.
My friend Dasha is blameless.
Except for the hair.
1987, in case you're curious.

The Ballad of GenX

(stay tuned after the show for visual interpretation)

Sit down, my children, gather near,
I have a tale to tell,
of times gone by and yesteryear,
I trust you’ll like it well.

When I was young, about your height,
we didn’t have a care.
we ate sweets, rode bikes at night,
and took every double dare.

We played Atari, watched TV,
and read the “Weekly Reader.”
Our tests were few, our summers long,
I’ll argue we were freer.

We got dirty, swam and played,
No play date was required.
Building forts and getting tan,
we came home when we got tired.

I miss those days, I’d have them back,
I wonder what transpired
to cause the dark and mortal fears
in which our kids are mired?

Our world was safe, our planet sound,
the Reds our only fear.
They lay sleeping underground,
more docile with each year.

I turned fourteen, the wall came down,
and things have sure improved!
Helmets and Splenda, Prozac and perverts,
we’re now too scared to move.

There are no risks out there today
there weren’t when we were new.
That’s why I mourn and sing and sigh
for Nineteen Eighty-Two.

Source: genx.meetup.com

Source: computermuseum.li

Source: bisoninsider.com

 

 

Source: solarnavigator.net

Source: lowpriceskates.com

 source: myspace.com

This is what happens when I'm sick of politics.

Be excellent to each other.

Party on.