Delete that f*%$@ng Anti-Boomer Ad, Kos

Ok, I'm sick of looking at that little brat in the red sweater.  I guess since the 1980s the appropriate thing would be to give him a "time out."  In my day, any adult in the neighborhood would have used more impressive measures to wipe that snotty look off his over-privileged face (the sweater, pudgy cheeks and good haircut are the give-aways).

Flame me, if you will.  But first, you must prove what my inner thoughts are regarding "impressive measures."

Fine -- I admit to being a boomer.  I was born in 1343 when things were pretty good in London and I grew up in a certain kind of privilege with the other mazillion kids whose families believed that every sperm was sacred.  My Dad was a vinter -- can't vouch for the quality, but, hell, wine was better than mead in those days.  You youngsters don't appreciate what I had to go through before the flowering of my genius.  My Dad was kidnapped by my repulsive Aunt Mizrabel who wanted to marry me off to her snotty-nosed daughter Yechta.  Fer Jeebus sakes, I was only twelve!  Good thing the scheming old woman spent some time in the clinker because of it.  That's what a bit of elitism will do for you.

Now, what you youngsters don't get is that I had to do my time making my own way -- boring stuff, like being a civil servant (Sir John Ashcroffte got me my first post), scrap metal guy -- ok, yeah, I was a courtier, Comptroller and stuff, but those things repressed my poetic skills.

Now, I know some of you are going to blame me for the plague, political upheavel that devastated the economy, health care benefits and ozone layer.  Get over it.  I did my bit for humor in the face of the Black Death.  I will be remembered long after that kid in the sweater turns into a thirty-something with uncorrected personality traits (thank you Robin Hitchcock).  For the love of Holy Jaysus -- get that kid off my courtyard!