Hurry up and die
(Inspired by an email from a 20-something on myspace.com)
I hate old people
You know, those gray-haired or bald-headed baby boomers who think they own the world.
The ones who always yelled at me as a kid when I knocked into them when running around the mall.
They always made me feel worthless and stupid.
Of course, I tried to stay away from them, only hanging out at places where I knew people of my own age went or went to places on the internet old people never went.
And I got even by making fun of the old souls behind their backs.
But there were so many of them.
I couldn’t go a block in my suburban neighborhood without running over one with my bicycle or when older forced to wait in my car while they hobbled in front of me across the street.
And every one of them always glared at me when I shouted for them to hurry or beeped my horn to get them across the street faster.
They seemed to think I wanted too much.
So when I got out of school, I moved back to the city, figuring all the old people had moved out for fear of being mugged.
I had a good job so I could afford the exorbitant rents they could not.
But I found out that a lot of them never left.
They just lingered on like a scene from “Night of the Living Dead,” hogging up good apartments with rend control, and acting as if I was mean for wanting them out.
City officials, however, hated the old as much as I did, sick of the old asking for services high tax paying people like me didn’t need.
So the city stuck those old folks away in homes where I didn’t have to look at them.
Yes, some people still think I’m mean for putting them out. Some people even tried to stop me from doing it, telling me the old had a right to die with dignity.
But I don’t let them make me feel bad.
The old are dying; I have my whole life ahead of me.
And I have a right to take what I want.
If the old don’t like it, they should hurry up and die.