The dead generation
by Matt Worley

Someone almost as important as Princess Diana died on Thursday night, just hours after the Seinfeld gang were thrown in jail for eternity. Frank Sinatra. A guy who knew how to sing a song. I'm sure he did a lot of other things, most of which have been outlined in newspapers and on TV the last few days. And while I understand the importance of Sinatra, it doesn't affect me much. Even Princess Di, who I spared little thought for before her death, affected me more. But there are millions who have been tearing up about this latest death, and I just want to applaud them--and then tell them to get on with their own demise.

I've been waiting for years to tell the WWII generation to get off their asses and into the grave, and I think this is as good a time as any to do that. Your icon of guyness has bit the dust, so what the hell else do you have to live for? Let us have the planet--we're gonna get it anyway.

This, of course, comes at a time when the world's medicinal community is coming up with dozens of little pills to not only make people live longer, but live happier--or so we think. We're giving the old geezers who tromped off to Europe and the Pacific Rim because of some sense of national pride too many thoughts of living forever. They should know by now that by the time the Forever Pill comes out, they'll be dead and gone. So they might as well leave now.

It'll solve quite a few things. One, all those senile idiots who keep getting re-elected in places that still defend massive tobacco subsidies with, "How are we going to make a living?" will be put to rest--like they should have been years ago. Fresh blood might not solve things (don't even talk to me about the Steve Schiff wannabees we have to pick from in New Mexico), but at least we'll understand what they're talking about. Two, Social Security will stabilize for a few more years. Three, we'll all be able to drive safer. Those cars going 20 mph in 40 mph zones will be gone, as will their scared drivers. If I had a dime for every frightened elderly person trying to find their way around town in a huge gas guzzling behemoth I pass on a daily basis, I'd be rich. Four, we won't have to endure the next round of Oscar winning documentaries about how many people died in WWII. Because there won't be anyone to moan and cry anymore.

Not that I'm against reminding people of the atrocities of the Holocaust and everything, but are there really people out there who haven't had this tale rammed into their brain by now?

Maybe I'm being a little bit bitchy and selfish, but shouldn't there be a law? If you're not doing anything, and you're over 65 and all that really happens in your life are awkward moments with grandchildren you don't even understand anymore, shouldn't you just give it up? I'm sure we can make a nice pill for you to swallow. You won't feel a thing.

Of course, that's not going to happen. Because these people might have something to impart to our fast paced gimmie gimmie gimmie world. Remember everything we got from Frank in the last few years? Reports of his impending demise from his hospital bedside in the supermarket rags. I sure hope they put all of those stories together into a collector's book I can buy off the TV. And those duets with contemporary artists--weren't those magnificent? Just what I wanted, 50s nostalgia repackaged for the 90s. Like we didn't have enough of that in the 70s. Wait, is this still the 70s? I never can tell.

But don't get me all screwed up here. I've got a point. All of the WWII generation grew up before the 1960s. One of the greatest moments of social change in our country (since the Civil War), and guess who was against it all? That's right, everyone who fought in WWII. They didn't understand the need for change then and they won't understand the need for their death now. We need a purging.

And it may cause a great many Sizzler and Golden Corral restaurants to fail, but that's okay. Businesses fail all the time, even in our great economy. But think about all of those insurance bonuses the younger generations will get. Think about the inheritances befalling a great many people--their parents squirreled away tons of cash and suddenly it'll all be available to spend! A subtle redistribution of wealth, even though most of it will stay in the family.

Okay, so maybe it's not such a good idea to kill off everyone over 65. Somebody has to be tourist to the rest of the country's working slaves. But here's one more thought before I go. I've been trying to figure out who my generation's Sinatra is. Y'know, so I know when it's time to throw in the towel. Is it Bono? Wait, he's not American. Is it Eddie Vedder? He can't act. Is it Tom Cruise? But he doesn't sing. Or maybe, just maybe, it's Jon Bon Jovi.

I guess I could just kill myself now.

Matt Worley secretly suspects a great many men on Viagra will drop dead from heart attacks caused by an increased sex life.

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