Non Compos Mentis | Lurid impressions of my encounters with the dumb-fuck generation.

Face it! Every generation has leading contenders, their giants who tower over the issue-ridden brain-dead battles to determine the best. But, it takes more than a few stellar figures to be able to lay claim to such an esteemed crown. It takes a entire bonded throng whose inner-most aspirations gave rise to each ubiquitous mass-fabricated iota that pervades every part and particle of your homogenized modern life.

It is that special group who saw the delusional brilliance behind branding and packaging of food into something even better -- food products. Their collective vision is fundamentally about inertia, and it's their unrelenting zeitgeist that holds that a valid existence is defined by comparative consumption. They are the forbears of banal, the folkmote of feign, of “Who the-fuck really cares... ” but “Oh, did you see my petunias this year?”

I say bow down to the true masters of trite. Indeed, these are the folks who can make rightful claim to the title and crown, known as the venerated and eluxated dumb-fuck generation – or just DFG, if you just don't want to have to remember that much.

As for me, I give them my most sincere vote of thanks, more formally now with a one-finger wave.