There are certain signs you’re never going to catch on in the social media age. Or just one sign. You’re over twenty-five. In this dystopian Instagram age, you’re dead as soon as you stop growing. Anatomically. Who shall sing at your funeral? No, sorry, not Whitney. She knew better than to stick around and watch middled age marginalized ramp up to numb disdain on Paxil.
We’ve finally arrived at a true democracy in entertainment. Like we always dreamed would happen without ever imagining the downsides. The vox populi of a generation to dumb for dumb television are now deciding the winners and losers. One dick, one vote. Ratings don’t come in on Monday, they come every three seconds until we can shorten the time frame. Pack up the bikini and pray Walmart is still hiring native English speakers. Misspent youth is precisely why chain restaurants serve such big portions.
Photo Credit: Splash