How to regret ever having children, By Mark Morford

[madokie]

It was a time, wasn't it? Back when you could only walk about 10 feet with a telephone, cars the size of Buicks got five miles to the gallon and the sun itself wasn't yet planning the certain doom of the entire planet?

Those days, when you were a kid, troublemaking meant sneaking out of the house to chug a beer, listen to Elvis, smooch at Makeout Point, knock up the babysitter, heckle some farm animals, maybe grope some thigh in the moonlight and then marry at 19, pop out a brood, settle the hell down and wait, eversopatiently, to die. Ah, simpler times.

Nowadays, with acid dripping from every headline and dread in every chestbone, it's like you can't swing a dead AT&T drop spot without reading about how troublemaking kids these days are using modern technology to sneak out and score crack, inject heroin into their eyeballs, tattoo their genitalia, vomit all over every episode of their own reality TV show, gang-rape farm animals and hack off each others' limbs with chainsaws like in that movie.

You think I'm lying? I am totally not lying. It's all happening. I saw a pie chart in USA Today. I read a brow-furrowed curmudgeon in the Wall Street Journal. I saw a Special Report on Fox News, anchored by scary blonde fembots with no discernable intellectual activity who fantasize about moving to Abu Dubai with Carrie Bradshaw all while never fully knowing the business end of a Hitachi. So sad. ...


(Full URL: http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2010/09/01/notes090110.DTL&nl=fix)

[madokie]

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