Boomers, Unvarnished

I posted this on Gab, with a link to the full four-panel comic, which inspired a few fascinating, and all-too-telling, responses from Boomers there. As one reader put it:

The reactions to this are simply amazing to behold… they won’t read the whole thing, and even if they do, they completely miss the point.

  • That’s what i learned from my depression era grandparents. i learned to do the yard work and other chores to earn my own way.
  • Yeah God forbid you teach a kid they have to work for what they want in life. That nothing comes free. This is why kids today are spoiled rotten cry babies that think they should get their way just because they want it without having to work for it. That Boomer didn’t have to give this kid shit and made him work anyway. Nothing wrong with teaching a kid the benefits of hard work period.
  • Ignore the weasels crying about “not being given anything”. The entire strip makes no sense. That grandpa would let his grandson do the work if the kid was interested. He obviously has someone doing the lawn because his family members are spoiled brats. Hell, I’ve got a 22 year old son who I can’t get to take out the garbage his entire life, let alone mow the lawn. He’s pretty worthless when it comes to being self motivated. And yes, I mowed some lawns in my day as a kid. I had a paper route for several years from age 10 -17 and paid for my first car with that money. I was given a lot because my parents thought it was the way to love me, but I also learned to earn. This thought process has gone the way of the dodo bird, and you can tell by the whiners lamenting boomers’ supposed easy life. Here’s a reality check for you; nobody owes you a damn thing.
  • Most if put in their position would do the same thing. Direct your contempt at the people who deserve it, not the generation that was the first victimized and exploited by cultural Marxism.
  • One of the whiniest generations bitching about one of the toughest generations. You are full of shit and a POS picking on older people while you yourself has contributed nothing to society.

It’s informative to be told repeatedly by Boomers that a) they did nothing wrong, b) if they did, it wasn’t their fault, and c) if you’d had the opportunity, you would have done the same thing.


The Apple Eaters

This is part of what apparently is supposed to pass for a Boomer’s attempted defense of his generation on Gab:

You don’t like other groups of people because you’ve been trained that way. You are a wage slave, because you were trained to be one. You are broke because you rely on monsters to provide for you. You are ignorant, because someone told you you’re way way way smarter than everyone else. You are weak, because you think that your potty mouth and ability to repeat memes makes you strong. You take your notions of “strength” from films about cartoon characters.

Boomers were never trained to hate and disrespect our elders. They tried, but we didn’t buy it. We are the last generation to respect and honor our elders, and view them as the treasures that humanity has always valued them as. We were mind controlled, but not as badly as you are, and we know things and can tell you things. That’s why you’re trained to dismiss us at best, hate us at worst. Most go all in.

Hating on old people is the hobby of the new and improved Non Boomer generations. It’s a known strategy for a strong society. Very smart, extremely cool, and adorably trendy!!

I know, I know, I know. But the CEO of Based immediately addressed that.

You guys were the first generation to be Mass mind controlled yet you think the hippy movement was organic and you still celebrate it. That was the CIA getting you to bite the apple of temptation which you all did universally. It’s astonishing how easy it was. They laugh about it.

Didn’t grow up to hate your elders? You stuffed them in nursing homes and fought with your brothers and sisters over the inheritance. Almost universally. Destroying families. None of you people got along or let go of sibling grudges and are the number one reason families are so shattered. Do you remember big family gatherings? Birthday parties with your cousins? Graduation parties where the entire extended family would gather? I sure as fuck do, but that all stopped when the greatest generation (my grandparents) died off because you selfish, arrogant boomers couldn’t fucking get along. Almost universally. You failed to pass ANYTHING on. Universally.

Even with the internet you guys can’t see that you were psy oppd into oblivion. The things you guys blindly went along with is actually horrific. You still watch tv and are the only demographic that keeps COMCAST/NBC etc alive. You people still pay a lot of money every month to brainwash yourselves and you think my generation is crazy for not doing so. Talk about not having a leg to stand on? You people literally can’t stop watching tv.

Nobody is “blaming” you necessarily for all these things but the fact you guys universally deny it and hate your own children for snapping out of the brainwashing is incredible. Your entire generation universally cheered at the flooding of our country with hostile invaders so you could have cheap labor, and economically replaced your own children for stonks. It’s long past time for you people to at least stfu and get out of our way so we can fix this hellish mess you guys created.

Idgaf that you didn’t have the internet back then. Just look at people like Madeline Albright, Bush 1, Kissinger etc. How tf did you guys look at these people and hear their words and not see total evil? You guys went along with all of it and you think it’s a great American value to do so. Something very dark happened to your generation and it shows more and more everyday.

Exactly. We understand why the Boomers became so awful, we understand that they were under assault from their teenage years on, we’re just not interested in listening to them anymore. It’s not just that we don’t want to listen to their constant attempts to excuse themselves and their inadvertent demolition of American society, we don’t want to hear them yammering on and on about anything.

Boomer, it’s time to go. Or at the very least, be quiet and follow obediently. Your day is done. You changed the world. And now we have to fix it.

He who cannot admit the evils of the past will never be able to confront the evils of the present. And anyone who defends the evils of the present, for any reason, is not on the side of the Good, the Beautiful, and the True.


Beyond Cringe

Whenever anyone, most probably though not necessarily a Boomer, waxes on about how cool the literary mediocrities known as the Beat Generation were, note that this is what passed for the epitome of cool to their twisted little minds. It’s apparently the most exciting and most dramatic moment of ON THE ROAD by Jack Kerouac, which is to say, Neal Cassady’s big night out on Folsom Street in San Francisco.

«Come on, Galatea, Marie, let’s go hit the jazz joints and forget it. Dean will be dead someday.
Then what can you say to him?»

«The sooner he’s dead the better,» said Galatea, and she spoke officially for almost everyone in the room.

«Very well, then,» I said, «but now he’s alive and I’ll bet you want to know what he does next and that’s because he’s got the secret that we’re all busting to find and it’s splitting his head wide open and if he goes mad don’t worry, it won’t be your fault but the fault of God.» They objected to this; they said I really didn’t know Dean; they said he was the worst scoundrel that ever lived and I’d find out someday to my regret. I was amused to hear them protest so much.

Roy Johnson rose to the defense of the ladies and said he knew Dean better than anybody, and all Dean was, was just a very interesting and even amusing con-man. I went out to find Dean and we had a brief talk about it. «Ah, man, don’t worry, everything is perfect and fine.» He was rubbing his belly and licking his lips.

The girls came down and we started out on our big night, once more pushing the car down the street. «Wheeoo! let’s go!» cried Dean, and we jumped in the back seat and clanked to the little Harlem on Folsom Street.

Out we jumped in the warm, mad night, hearing a wild tenorman bawling horn across the way, going «EE-YAH! EE-YAH! EE-YAH!» and hands clapping to the beat and folks yelling, «Go, go, go!» Dean was already racing across the street with his thumb in the air, yelling, «Blow, man, blow!» A bunch of colored men in Saturday-night suits were whooping it up in front. It was a sawdust saloon with a small bandstand on which the fellows huddled with their hats on, blowing over people’s heads, a crazy place; crazy floppy sponren wandered around sometimes in their bathrobes, bottles clanked in alleys. In back of the joint in a dark corridor beyond the splattered toilets scores of men and women stood against the wall drinking wine-spodiodi and spitting at the stars – wine and whisky.

The behatted tenorman was blowing at the peak of a wonderfully satisfactory free idea, a rising and falling riff that went from «EE-yah!» to a crazier «EE-de-lee-yah!» and blasted along to the rolling crash of butt-scarred drums hammered by a big brutal Negro with a bullneck who didn’t give a damn about anything but punishing his busted tubs, crash, rattle-ti-boom, crash. Uproars of music and the tenorman had it and everybody knew he had it. Dean was clutching his head in the crowd, and it was a mad crowd. They were all urging that tenorman to hold it and keep it with cries and wild eyes, and he was raising himself from a crouch and going down again with his horn, looping it up in a clear cry above the furor. A six-foot skinny Negro woman was rolling her bones at the man’s hornbell, and he just jabbed it at her, «Ee! ee! ee!»

Everybody was rocking and roaring. Galatea and Marie with beer in their hands were standing on their chairs, shaking and jumping. Groups of colored guys stumbled in from the street, falling over one another to get there. «Stay with it, man!» roared a man with a foghorn voice, and let out a big groan that must have been heard clear out in Sacramento, ah-haa! «Whoo!» said Dean. He was rubbing his chest, his belly; the sweat splashed from his face. Boom, kick, that drummer was kicking his drums down the cellar and rolling the beat upstairs with his murderous sticks, rattlety-boom! A big fat man was jumping on the platform, making it sag and creak. «Yoo!» The pianist was only pounding the keys with spread-eagled fingers, chords, at intervals when the great tenorman was drawing breath for another blast – Chinese chords, shuddering the piano in every timber, chink, and wire, boing! The tenorman jumped down from the platform and stood in the crowd, blowing around; his hat was over his eyes; somebody pushed it back for him. He just hauled back and stamped his foot and blew down a hoarse, laughing blast, and drew breath, and raised the horn and blew high, wide, and screaming in the air. Dean was directly in front of him with his face lowered to the bell of the horn, clapping his hands, pouring sweat on the man’s keys, and the man noticed and laughed in his horn a long quivering crazy laugh, and everybody else laughed and they rocked and rocked; and finally the tenorman decided to blow his top and crouched down and held a note in high C for a long time as everything else crashed along and the cries increased and I thought the cops would come swarming from the nearest precinct. Dean was in a trance. The tenorman’s eyes were fixed straight on him; he had a madman who not only understood but cared and wanted to understand more and much more than there was, and they began dueling for this; everything came out of the horn, no more phrases, just cries, cries, «Baugh» and down to «Beep!» and up to «EEEEE!» and down to clinkers and over to sideways-echoing horn-sounds. He tried everything, up, down, sideways, upside down, horizontal, thirty degrees, forty degrees, and finally he fell back in somebody’s arms and gave up and everybody pushed around and yelled, «Yes! Yes! He blowed that one!» Dean wiped himself with his handkerchief.

How very incredibly exciting. Note that the intrepid duo followed up this fascinating public performance by abandoning the girls and running off with the black saxophonist, then getting picked up and spending the night in a hotel room with “a tall, thin fag who was on his way home to Kansas.”

Anyone who praises the work of the Beat Generation is either a) lying or b) hasn’t ever actually read any of it. It doesn’t even rise to the level of mediocre, it’s downright awful in terms of style, story, and characters, and that’s without even getting into the degeneracy and malignant narcissism of the subjects. There is nothing of the Good, the Beautiful, or the True in it. Their works are considerably closer to case studies in mental illness than anything approaching either fiction or biography.

And let’s not get started on the gay Jewish pedophile who tried to pass off his juvenile odes to mental illness and degeneracy as poetry. The self-styled greatest minds of his generation sure look a lot more like Dumb and Dumber, don’t you think? From an artistic perspective, Ginsberg was nothing more than the male Lena Dunham of his day, although we are fortunate that, unlike Dunham, he did not have access to Hollywood budgets or video production equipment in his youth.

I’m not a big fan of the Generation Z habit of labeling everything “cringe”, but if the concept applies to anything on this planet, it applies to the fake, gay Beats and the Boomers who idolized them.

UPDATE: I think this very positive review of Kerouac’s book sums up both its quality and its appeal very well.

One The Road is the best book i have ever read.



No Unity with the Devil

Perhaps the most irritating Boomercon blather is their constant bleating about “unity” and how calling out material evil is “divisive”. Neon Revolt has no patience for it either.

All you are doing is helping the globalist agenda with this division. If you don’t think this is part of their plan, you are more confused than you already seem.

muh division
muh divided by age
muh they want u divided

Boomers, you divided an entire generation out of reasonably priced housing with the banking schemes your generation gleefully went along with. Now, when two entire generations are now being turned into rent-peasants by the likes of Blackrock, all you’re capable of doing is berating those you collectively excluded from the very benefits and opportunities you enjoyed. It’s the classic Boomer move of pulling up the ladder behind you while yelling “pick yourselves up by your bootstraps” to everyone below you.

Basically, you want “unity” so long as it never costs you anything.

Which is really just another way of saying you want a pat on the back for maintaining globohomo’s status quo.

There can be no unity with the wicked, their servants, or their slaves. No unity with the Devil and no sympathy for the Boomers.


A Eulogy for Boomers

A lot of Boomers think I’m too harsh on them. They have absolutely no idea how history is going to regard them. Or how many members of the succeeding generations consider me to be a squishy moderate on the subject. But this summation by Ivan Throne should give them a clue.

It seems the sole and total purpose of Boomers was to groom the entire Western world into solipsistic death with its ankles in the air on a mattress stained with bloody andrenochrome and the flopsweat of Klaus Schwab.

What a filthy generation.

It shat on a thousand years of heritage and damned its descendants to slavery under the most grotesque, befouled, and hideous collapse imaginable.

Is it fair? Not entirely. But since when was recorded history ever fair? And no generational description can ever address the behavior of a single individual. Nevertheless, if one is concerned about one’s legacy, then perhaps one should live with an eye to how those who will be judging it are likely to regard it.

After all, there is no spin coming from the grave.



The latest Boomer Patrol masterpiece is now available for your listening pleasure.

Imagine there’s no Boomers
It’s easy if you try
No grit or bootstraps
Or tales of getting high
Imagine all the Boomers
Going far away

Imagine there’s no Boomers
It isn’t hard to do
No more talk of Woodstock
Or going to the Moon
Imagine all the Boomers
Finally at peace

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the Boomers will be done

Imagine all the pillows
So soft and fluffery
A gentle hand of mercy
That sets the nations free
Imagine all the Boomers
Resting in their graves

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the Boomers will be done


No Longer Breathing

Introduced on last night’s Darkstream the latest anthem from Boomer Patrol, No Longer Breathing, is now available for your audio-pondering.

You know what I’m doing, this is the time and place
I feel nothing but fabric, when I press down on your face
You really had me goin’, headin’ where you are
The explanation for you is eviler by far
I believed your generation, was going to change the world
And now your own grandchildren don’t know they’re boy or girl
There’s not much to examine, there’s nothing left to hide
You really can’t be serious if you have to ask me why
I say goodbye

Cause you’re no longer breathing, and now you’re out of air
Don’t know who you’re kidding, imagining I care
And I could stand here waiting, and watch as you fade away
I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, you’re worth the price, the price that I would pay

And everyone keeps asking, why we’re all so mad
How we can lament it, the life we never had
What’s the destination, can’t you feel the pain?
There’s nothing left to reason and only you to blame
You’ll never change

Cause you’re no longer breathing, and now you’re out of air
Don’t know who you’re kidding, imagining I care
And I could stand here waiting, and watch as you fade away
I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, you’re worth the price, the price that I would pay
But I’m thinking it over anyway
I’m thinking it over anyway

I said goodbye, it’s time to go
You’re out of time, a soft pillow
My hand above, your face below
And every breath that comes and goes
Boomer, it’s time to move on

Cause you’re no longer breathing, and now you’re out of air
Don’t know who you’re kidding, imagining I care
And I could stand here waiting, and watch as you fade away
I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, you’re worth the price, the price that I would pay
But I’m thinking it over anyway
I’m thinking it over anyway

I know what to do now. I’ll end it now, right here.


How Boomers Killed Comics

From Part Five of the history of the decline of the comics industry:

“The comics business went into a steep decline in the ’50s and early ’60s. During that time a lot of companies folded, a lot of comic book professionals were unemployed, and so, if you were an editor at a surviving comic book company you never had to train anybody, you knew lots of guys who were out of work. The streets were awash with unemployed cartoonists. So what happened is we had a generation gap—relatively few new people came into this business between the mid-’50s and the early-to-mid-’60s. Around that time a few of us started to trickle in. Among the arrivals in the early to mid-‘60’s were E. Nelson Bridwell, Roy Thomas, Archie Goodwin, Neal Adams, a few others and me. We were pretty much the last guys who got to learn our craft from the older guys–the guys who really invented and built the comic book business.
. . .
“There was a GENERATION GAP in the comic book industry. There were some people in their 50’s and 60’s, there were a lot of people in their twenties and early 30’s, but not enough in between. Because there had been an extended period of decline when relatively few new people came in, we were missing a generation. What that meant is that young guys who should have been assistant editors to a forty-something person were instead editors or editors in chief, even though their main qualification was having read 10,000 comics.”

Jim Shooter, Marvel Editor-in-Chief, 1978

Roll this bit of information back to 1968. The Marvel staff that remained through 1978 would have been in their 40s and 50s in 1968 by Shooter’s estimation. These folks would be Greatest Generation with some very early Silents. The generation gap that Shooter speaks of would be Silents who were generally unable to break into the industry in the late 50s and the 60s due to the downturn in the industry. Greatest Generation creators hung on to the majority of remaining positions. Those new staff at Marvel would have been in their late teens and early 20s in 1968. Those individuals would be Boomers...

Boomers work to undo the Greatest Generation’s efforts

We see in these two titles the distinct generational split between the unified-vision, long-term editor in Stan Lee with Jack, Steve, Don, and the Greatest Generation Bullpen members, and the multiple-editor driven Roy Thomas/Archie Goodwin/etc and Boomer Bullpen model. The Greatest Generation creators took more from the traditional Western Historical canon — focusing on romantic pairings (Reed and Sue, Ben and Alicia, Johnny and Crystal, Peter and Gwen), family formation (marriage and children), forging strong male interpersonal relationships (Reed and Ben, Ben and Johnny, Peter and Robbie, Peter and Capt Stacy, Peter and Harry, Peter and Flash), and investigating the interpersonal relationships of these smaller elements with other family, friends, co-workers, as well as antagonists and villains.

The few Silents and majority of Boomers took the lead on aligning the content of the books with the popular zeitgeist of the current day, moving the books away from aspirational themes of their Greatest Generation predecessors toward ‘realism’. That meant divorce, no marriages, no children, and few relationships outside of the ‘hook-up culture’ varieties. Traditional values highlighted by Greatest Generation creators were ignored, avoided, and eventually derided.

And while we’re on the topic of Boomers, don’t miss Boomer Patrol’s latest, FUNKY BOOMER, which chronicles much the same phenomenon across a wider strata of society.


Pedo Zeppelin

The worst-kept secret in rock and roll is finally going to take down the pedophile monsters of rock:

Four years after the fall of Harvey Weinstein fired up the #MeToo movement, few areas of public life haven’t faced a reckoning over predatory male behaviour. So why has rock music remained untouched?

That question could most appropriately be asked of Led Zeppelin, who were ‘monsters of rock’ in every way.

Many of the stories told of the hugely successful British band and their hotel-trashing, drug-abusing, groupie-indulging ways are nearly too awful to print — a fact that has probably helped the surviving members to dismiss them as cocaine-fuelled fabrications.

However, Bob Spitz, American author of Led Zeppelin: The Biography, a new 688-page history of the band, spoke to dozens of those involved and says he confirmed the horror stories were largely true. Led Zeppelin are guilty as charged, according to him.

Boomers can, and will, whine “but it was different back then” all they like. The incontrovertible fact is that some of their rock heroes were, and are, unrepentant pedos. They weren’t particularly evil pedos – no one is claiming they were preying upon kindergarteners – but they were absolutely in serial violation of the age of consent laws.

They fully deserve to get cancelled, permanently, for their egregious misdeeds.

They should have paid heed to Maugham’s addition to Crowley’s philosophy: do what thou wilt… with due regard for the policeman around the corner.