It’s easy to point out that Millennials have been given greater advantages than any other generation in history. What’s harder to understand, though, is why they can’t use those privileges to just shut up already, and climb into this machine I built that will turn them into fuel.
I don’t want to “trigger” anyone with my un-PC words here, but let me give you a real shock: The world isn’t designed for the whims of Millennials! You have to work for everything you gain, just like I had to work to build this machine. I had to spend countless hours researching metallurgy, mechanical engineering, and yes, a fair bit of necromancy to get this off the ground. And nobody gave me a participation ribbon for that, I can tell you.
Newsflash, snowflakes: we all die. Yes, that is scary. The world is a scary place. But you can’t just block the world on twitter because you disagree with it. Sometimes you have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and face your fears. Sometimes, to avoid the death that comes for us all, you have to delve deep into the dark arts, uncovering secrets buried for centuries, and build a horrific machine that saps the vitality of the young and turns it into fuel, which I can then absorb and live through another generation.
I get it. You want to be paid to draw pretty pictures all day. You want your “voice” to be “honoured”. But hold on to your pacifiers: you can’t survive on likes and retweets. You need to pay rent, buy groceries, and sap the essence of human spirit energy, which must be ground from your bones as your body is rendered into an emulsion. So if you’re finished pouting about privilege, please climb into my machine, submit to the horrors, and become sustenance for my faltering body.
You won’t understand because your generation never had to give a pound of thine own blood in exchange for demonic secrets. But one day you’ll get old too, and then you’ll want to absorb Generation Z.
So please: grow up, understand that your helicopter parents can’t save you from every harsh reality, and submit your body to my mystical machine.
