Fabulous

Fabulous

I have a problem with this lifestyle.

I try not to judge people, but I hate when someone can be considered “fabulous.”

If my son or daughter were to ever say, “Hey, pops. I’m gay.” I’ll reply, “So?”

If my kids were to admit that they were serial killers, I’d have a long discussion, but I’d still love them.

If the geniuses that emerge from my wife’s womb plot to take over the Earth, I will high-five them and lay out a blueprint for my schemes.

But if one of those mother lovers come home (boy or girl) and say, “Oh, daddy. That is so yesterday,” “That’s like beneath me,” or “Ugh! I would so look better in that than him/her,” I may slap them.

You think I kid, but I may slap them.

Compton. Wasn’t born there, but I was damn sure raised in the hood. That was during the 1990s where Ice Cube and Pac inspired a nation of gangsters. Though I hated the drive-bys, people were authentic. They were angry and aggressive. They stood for something and didn’t lie down for everything.

Now, I see a generation of people who bend over and take if from the rear (metaphorically speaking).

They allow others to rape their minds and influence them. They think trends make them special. They lack individuality and creativity. They watch a show with a spunky catch phrase and try beating their friends to say it first. They are HAMers, YOLOers, and ballers. They say shit that would never be used in a regular conversation unless it were used by the felacio master, Kim Kardashian.

They are fabulous.

They hope that attention is drawn to them through Likes or Followers.

They are fabulous.

They believe that Hollywood is real.

They are fabulous.

They are annoying…

…because they are fabulous!

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