It’s been a fun time, one history will always remember and revere, but you’ve overstayed your welcome. If you were born right after World War II and you’re still puttering around, it’s time to hit the road. If you wore bell bottom jeans and platform shoes without irony, if you ever called any authority a member of “the establishment,” hell if you personally remember any part of Richard Nixon’s presidency, then it’s time you set sail. Parting is such sweet sorrow. History will remember you fondly and cherish your collective accomplishments, and since future retrospectives will be recorded by someone who isn’t a Baby Boomer themselves, they won’t be self-serving bullshit.
It’s not even about the Social Security payments. You know what? You can have them. I want you to have them. No, this isn’t about money at all. Fact is, Baby Boomers, your kind are pretty fucking annoying. It’s been four decades since you failed to change the world by driving your parents–you know, The Greatest Generation®–insane with worry, and you’re still all navel-gazing like the Age of Aquarius is upon us and you fucking made it happen. You know what your legacy is? Conspiracy theorists and paisley-print scarves. That’s it. Everything else will be ultimately wiped away, but I think we’ll be stuck with paranoid weirdos and psychedelic tchotchkes for generations to come. Good job, Baby Boomers.
If I see another ad featuring silver-haired retirees playing golf and yukking it up over mimosas, I’m going to puke. You were supposed to work until you’re infirm, and then we were supposed to take care of you. This “second childhood” shit is going on for-fucking-ever. It’s turning into decades of you Baby Boomers farting around, looking ridiculous in blue jeans and trying to figure out new social media websites. Enough already. I think I’ve been patient, but now it’s time to say goodnight. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And take your goddamned America Online e-mail addresses with you. You’re embarrassing yourselves.
Would that we had infinite resources and reserves, we could all get along on the same planet. I’d still want to live in a separate country from the over sixty set, but there could be some accord. But there’s not even enough food and clean water for all the children on the planet, never mind your wrinkly gas-guzzling ass. Get lost, Baby Boomers. With your generation’s ingenuity and collective curiosity, maybe you can build a giant spaceship and fly away to another planet covered in golf courses and yoga mats. I mean, I don’t want you to die or anything, Baby Boomers. I might still need to hit you up for money from time to time.