The Irony

“No, man!  I am telling you right now that these youth are runnin’ roun’ here don’t know how to act!  They walk around with… with their pants hangin halfway down their behinds, showing off their underwear and all that, then wonder why the police are always harrassin’ them and whatnot.  They don’t have no respect!”

“Yeah, that sho’ is right,” his friend chimed in as their car approached a yellow light.  “They are so brainwashed by that old music and everything else that they don’t even know it.  They do whatever the music says.  They do whatever those old, no-good videos tell them.  Sellin’ drugs and um, disrespectin’ women and everything.  It is a cryin’ shame the way they can’t think for themselves.”

“You sho’ is right, Hank,” the driver said as he slid his foot onto the break, “It’s like.  They can’t think for themselves.  They are mindless robots, and it is a crying shame that this is what we have come to as a people.”

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, without another car in sight as their vehicle slowed to a stop when the light turned red.  The three men inside the car were all in their mid-fifties.  Grey hairs coated their beards like silver wires as they reflected on how dumb and brainwashed this generation was, while they waited for a green light to tell them when to go.

#BlackStar

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