by Ross Sharp

I have seen the sights, the sounds, and the shape of the Future and it is Shit.

The Intergenerational Report released yesterday by the Abbott Federal Government has made it perfectly clear to us all, in the starkest possible terms, that this country faces challenges ahead, in all aspects and walks of life, that must, and can, only be met by all of us willingly engaging in a broad, national conversation about the sacrifices and pressures we must all endure in order to remain a strong, secure and economically sound nation into the near and distant future, for the sake of our children, for the sake of theirs, and for all that lies ahead, all that can be ours, all that can be theirs, if only we, all Australians, men and women, are willing to grasp the opportunity to do so now, before it’s too late.

In short, there are far too many old cunts fucking it up for the rest of us.

They piss off out of work as soon as they lose a couple teeth, and spend the rest of their miserable fucking lives playing upsy-downies on their Harvey Norman faux-leather recliners, watching Dr. fucking Phil, and blowing their fucking pensions on the fucking pokies up the local RSL and the fucking bingo and a fucking five buck schnitzel with fucking mash and mushy peas from the fucking bistro and then they go get a fucking bus home for practically fucking nothing because they’ve got a fucking pension card, and they think, they smugly fucking think, they think they’re fucking entitled to it all and it’s the fucking rest of us who’re footing the fucking bill for it.


It’s all there in black and white – “increased pressure on health services, aged care and the environment.”

A whole generation is about to be held hostage by the selfish, snippety demands and needs of hundreds of thousands of enfeebled old coots with their fucking hands always held out for a fucking freebie, or a fucking deal on something, simply because they’ve got less life ahead of them than behind, and they think they’re SO fucking special.

Go to any hospital, any hospital at all, any time of night or day, and I guarantee that’s all you’ll see. Old people. Every fucking where. Having a wobbly wander up the fucking corridor on their taxpayer-funded fucking walker and probably thinking they’re on some kind of grand adventure to some fucking where. Taking up space, taking up time, taking up precious resources that could be far better utilised elsewhere than forever pandering to the incessant whims of these endless zombie hordes of senescent leeches. There’s one of them, just laying there, doing absolutely fuck all, for all intents and purposes dead to the world and everything and everybody in it, mouth agape, a slimy string of drool the flavour of last nights custard and todays chicken gravy falling, lava-like, from its withered fucking lips, the old cunt should’ve been dead years back, and it’s us, the hard-working, decent Aussie bloke or sheila whose taxes have kept the dusty old bitch breathing for as long as she fucking has.

We have young Australians, just coming into their prime, moving from the greasy shadows and dim lit moods of anxious adolescence to adulthood, yearning for opportunity, throbbing with effervescent hope and a simple, naïve and uninformed joy at what may lay ahead, embracing all manner of new experiences and sensations, and what use is it, what is the point of a public health system, if some poor thirteen year old kid, doing just that, stumbles into a hospital emergency room one night with a pineapple stuck up his arse and can’t get a fucking bed because the place is up to the hilt with dribbly old relics sucking up all the fucking plasma and hovering morphine like there’s no fucking tomorrow, the only comfort to be taken in that is that for some of them, there won’t be, but what’s the fucking point?

“Retirement” for these sucked out, paper-skinned sponges is just another word for freeloading, where they think they can spend the remainder of their days sprawled out on a cheap fold-up K-Mart Homemaker chair outside a caravan in a coastal park, sucking on longnecks, idly gumming sausages from a can, and all at the expense of the taxpayer, and this shit can go on for twenty, sometimes thirty fucking years, yeah, nice work if you can get it, buddy-boy, but it’s about time we put a fucking stop to it, it’s rubbish.

If I had my fucking way, I’d get all these wasted public-purse sucking doddery fucking arse-leaking parasitic drones, throw them into a pit and flamethrow the fucking lot of them into a great steaming pile of stale musk and lavender scented ash, and there would go your “ageing burden on the economy” once and for fucking all, don’t you fucking worry about that sunshine, but then maybe that’s just me.

Here is a photograph of some useless old cunts with their fucking hands in the fucking air …

 Seniors exercising

We’re probably paying for this fucking malarkey.