The world’s gone totally mad and now’s your chance to get in there and make the most of it.
No longer do you have to face the horrors of liability or accountability. The new millennium means never having to say you’re sorry. Because let’s face it – you’re not, are you? The nineties’ answer to responsibility is to place the blame elsewhere. And there’s plenty of places to place it – you don’t even have to look very far.
Ask Boris. He’s a serial killer because his mother didn’t love him. Jason whines he’s a drug addict because his father left home. And poor old Tom’s been unemployed all his life because his teachers were no good. Well, diddums. Strike up the orchestra here, and hopefully it will drown out the noise of nobody having the guts to blame themselves anymore. Nobody wants to say, ‘I’m bad just because I am.’ If you can find someone to blame, you can live your whole life in denial while someone else carries your baggage.
Back in the dark ages, when kids respected their elders and got a good clip across the ear’ole if they didn’t, people were brought up to know right from wrong. If they transgressed, they were punished. Troublemakers were nipped in the bud in kindergarten when they pulled the first wing off the fly crawling across the inkwell. One visit to the headmaster and that was the last time you chewed Juicy Fruit in maths. The class warm-up man wasn’t given the chance to build an empire. Most people were reasonable human beings. After nicking that Mars Bar, aged 6 and getting spectacularly drunk at 15, most kids settled down into your average reasonable lifestyle. You knew your limits.
Today, there aren’t any. We have excuses instead. If passing the buck had been flavour of the month in our grandparents’ day, wasn’t every child who lived through a World War entitled to become a serial killer? They should have been given vouchers! All the little ones evacuated away from their families, not knowing whether they’d ever go home again – prime candidates for spectacular careers in Advanced Rape and Pillage, wouldn’t you think? Not. There was that ol’ dinosaur – self control. Hanging on and making the best of things – dealing with what life handed out. It might have been crap – but it was YOUR crap, and you just wiped it off your face and got on with the next item on the agenda.
Nowadays, we’re stuck with other people’s crap. Because of Jason’s father leaving home, Jason now feels perfectly entitled to break into Nigel’s house and nick his stereo. Why shouldn’t he? After all, Jase has a $300-a-day drug habit and bloody Nigel has a good job because his parents stayed together and his mother cut the crusts off his sandwiches. You bastard, Nigel – how unfair was that? Well Jase – weren’t you in Nigel’s class at high school? Didn’t you fire spitballs at him through a biro shaft while he was sitting down the front trying to figure out algorithms? Didn’t you say, ‘I don’t give a stuff,’ when Mr Jones asked why you hadn’t handed in your assignment? You didn’t give much thought to the income you’d need to support your drug habit back then, hmm? But that’s fine. When you’ve sold Nigel’s stereo, you can have a go at Derek’s back window. The catch is a bit dodgy and Derek happens to have just bought a state-of-the-art plasma screen. His DVD player is only three months old and his wife has a few pieces of heirloom jewelery in her top drawer. It’s got sentimental value only, but it might fetch a dollar or two. If not, you can chuck it in the river. Yeah, Jase – the world owes you a living.
If the do-gooders get hold of you, they’ll tell you you’re a worthwhile human being and you deserve better than the shoddy deal life has handed you.
You sure do, Jase. So take Nigel’s. He won’t mind – he’s eaten up with guilt for having worked bloody hard to support his family while you had to make do with the pathetic dole payment the government expects you to exist on.
Life’s a bastard – then you die. Go figure.