The electoral collage drama has caused people to lose their minds (see Trump Wins Electoral College Vote. Hillary Supporters Lose It! and Liberals Plan ‘Freedom Concert’ to Silence Trump Inauguration). So, we here at LwC have decided to post something to unite the country together: making fun of SJW, precious snowflakes.
Ok, so that doesn’t unite the country as much as make us laugh, but it’s our site so we make the rules. Take it away Adam Carolla!
There’s something that’s come up in this country that didn’t use to exist, which is envy. And it’s a big issue. It was understood back in the day, and we are empowering, we’re now dealing with the first wave of participation trophy, my own fecal matter doesn’t stink, empowered, I feel so f*cking good about myself, everyone’s a winner, there’s no losers, we’re dealing with the first wave of those f*cking assholes.
We’ve created a bunch of f*cking self-entitled monsters. And this has become the pursuit of my life where people are so far out of it in what they expect and what they think realistic is and what the set of rules that pertains to them versus the other guys- Because that’s what the bottom line is, ‘I want my Most Valuable Player trophy.’ ‘Well, you’re the slowest, fattest guy on the team.’ Why should he get one and I don’t?’ ‘Because he busts his ass and he runs a 4.4 40. That’s why he gets one.’ ‘Well, this is bullsh*t.’ And then everyone gets involved and everyone gives everyone a participation trophy and then everyone feels good about themselves but it’s not based on anything.
Sure, this is low hanging fruit. But much like grapes, it’s very tasty. Also tasty? The tears of overly-whiny liberal snowflakes still whining (over a month later) that their pantsuited queen was de-throned by an orange-haired tycoon. Delicious. Like gravy for the soul.
Of course Carolla is right. 100 percent on the bitcoin (been a while since I used that expression. Do people still use bitcoin? Curious minds…). We have a generation of over-puffed, under-cooked little twit scones who cry at the slightest slight, while suddenly pulling up their big boy and big girl pants when demanding all the minimum wages. For the most pitiful jobs, usually.
They’re spoiled brats made rotten by getting far too much of what they think they wanted as young whipper snappers, earning trophies they didn’t earn, being told how wonderful they were for correctly spelling their name. At age thirteen (gawd I hope I’m exaggerating). Behold the result isn’t well-adjusted, confident adults capable in their own skills. But the human equivalent of doughy biscuits. No, no, not the slightly undercooked biscuits that do well with butter. I’m talking still pasty white, touch it and you’ll get goo on your finger, barely holding their shape biscuits. Which you must ingest out of politeness. Merry Christmas, you pudge-packers.
Will our soft-stool generation issue a correction? Or is it too late? Have the snow clusters accumulated too much mass, burying us with their seven layers of retard? Tweet me @Courtneyscoffs.
Speaking of low hanging fruit…