They're Not Mine

I stumbled across Instapunk a while ago. I keep forgetting about them, because I have the early stages of Bass-induced Alzheimer's. That and I didn't bookmark them, which I've just changed. Instapunk shares with me a great disdain for the excesses and failures that the Baby Boomers left to those of us who follow in their wake. So this piece was particularly funny to me, as I've often bitched about the same thing.

Bill O'Reilly is emblematic, in this case, of the legion of nanny-state busybodies who always want to protect the nebulous "kids". Speaking as a former kid, what I needed protecting from was myself and there's nobody on the planet capable of pulling off that particular hat trick. J is the only person in the world that's been even remotely successful at it. As an adult, it always pisses me off when some wank tells me I can't have access to some item because some unspecified sprog might get a hold of it and do something awful. Great. Hold said sprog's parents accountable. Leave me out of whatever mess you and your progeny created. I'm an adult. Don't restrict my rights because you're too lazy/stupid/irresponsible to raise your own kids. It does not take a village. You had 'em, you raise 'em. The other villagers have their own lives and their own issues that need tending.


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