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Carte Blanche

Carte Blanche

I see a little too much leniency with children these days. Just yesterday, I saw a little girl screaming at the top of her lungs in a convenience store because her mother wouldn’t buy a bag of chips that she wanted. A few months ago, there were two little boys running up and down the hallway of a movie theater, throwing kernels of popcorn at each other.

What scares me more than anything I’ve seen is the memory of a little girl, who couldn’t be more than ten, wearing a pair of sweatpants with the word “Diva” written across her short, pudgy ass. Why, during these times where kids are getting raped and molested left and right, would a mother allow her daughter to be seen like this? On a different occasion, while leaving a bank I noticed a family about to enter and held the door open for them. The mother said thank you, the father smiled and nodded, but the teenage boy simply walked by without even acknowledging my existence.

Simply put, I hate this generation of kids. I hate the cell phones, text messaging, PSP, iPods, Blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, Zac Efron, Hannah Montana, Jonas Brothers, dolls called “Bratz,” Disney, Cartoon Network, Animated Star Wars, VH1, MTV, words like crib, hood, fizzle, shizzle, rainy drizzle, a’ight, ’cuz, “DL,” hit that, tap that, tear it up, bitches and hoes, wigga’, can I bum a cigga’, spit a rap, bust a cap, run a lap, read a map. I hate misspelled words, text talk, bling bling, pimpin’ rides, and paper cuts on the tip of my finger that make it hard to write stuff down.

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