I’ve been talking to people. I’ve been going to dinner parties and tutes and cafes and telling people about my idea. They hear my idea and it gets them excited. I’ve had a lot of ideas, but this one might be the most important.
I think we’re gonna have to eat the Boomers.
Can’t just execute them, you see, that’d be barbaric. If we turn them into steaks and mince and so on, that’s simply the reallocation of resources, Lifting our nations biggest Leaners up and onto our plate, where their protein can finally go to some use.
We’d do it properly, of course. We’d have a program and roll it out and advertise it to the populace in a nice little brochure so they understood exactly what was involved. Then we’d gather up an entire generation and stun them and slaughter them and eat their flesh. Couldn’t be simpler.
People have reservations, which is natural. “But it’d be a huge logistical challenge,” they say, and “what about the loss of all that intellectual capital?” or “they’re all gonna be too stringy.” And in reply, I say respectively “jobs,” or “we’ll just read a book about real estate investing” and “that’s why we gotta do it now.” If people still aren’t convinced I tell them how Operation Eat the Boomers will put the fear of fucking God into Generation X and we might finally see the end of those ‘What’s Wrong with Gen Y?’ columns. That gets the last of them on board.
I’m seeing a lot of excitement about this. I tell people my vision and their eyes light up as they imagine a country with a sane property market, and with growth in industries that aren’t aged care. I tell them to picture George ‘Voltaire’ Brandis as hamburgers and I swear to God, my friend, sometimes I see tears.
I was walking with my sister the other day when a friendly silver-haired couple struck up a chat about our Cavalier Cross. Within half a minute they’d sweetly concern-trolled us about our choice of leash, totally oblivious to their own condescension as they strolled away in their matching down vests. Fuckers probably thought they were being nice. “Chops, chops, chops,” I muttered to myself until the red haze receded. Imagine, my friends, a future without any of that.
Come back next week for “Open Season on Charity Muggers: You Know it’s Right” and “The Ethical Necessity of Carpet Bombing South of the Yarra.”