An Open Letter To Teenage Guys
Did maturity ever come knocking on your front door? Did you turn it away, like a forlorn salesman trying ineffectually to do his job? I think that was fairly ill-advised, especially when you really could use some maturity.
You may keep telling me clean words, but I will not fantasize that they fall from a clean mouth. Your kind sayings are addressed to me like a round lid on a square container. It is delusion on your behalf to imagine that what you say to me is anything different than anopheline pests to a perturbed pachyderm. You regard matters of importance to me with such persiflage that it results in the termination of my hearkening to your voice. Furthermore, I’d add that your lexicon comprises terms of abhorrence to my ears. Although your pet words are the most abused words in the high school vernacular, they’re anything but spectacular. Who do you think wants to hear what escapes your teeth resembling the gates of hell? Find yourself enough self-confidence to tell a girl what’s true, not just what you think she wants to hear.
It annoys me to hear of your plans for your decennoval nocturne, that it will be filled with chaos of the most reprehensible calibre. These plans are enough to wring the last strains of faith in humanity from my internal constitution.
Your spaced out eyes face a world of unrecognized matter. They zoom in, zoom out, try to focus, but most of the objects are swimming in a blurry sea. Haze covers the people around you while you stare at the only clear things you can see. Your eyes lurch from body to body scoping through the air clouded with testosterone. What do you think this is? A lupanarian opportunity to freeload? You’ll stare for contemptible lengths of time at a specific target, as if to make sure this is your lucky day before shouting LAND HO! Land is always a comforting sight to weary sailors; it is in this languishment that they are most susceptible to the perils waiting ahead. The birdwatching sailors ignore the laroid warnings of concerned overseers to follow the limicoline sirens who escort them to the shore. They are gleefully being wheedled into mooring in the harbour, not knowing that their ship will be plundered. In the thrilling moment while your pallographs sigh under high levels of vibration, contemplate the perilous side of your debauchery. In the moment when your ship runs aground, remember this allegory.
Consider who you are, and who you will become. And GET OFF YOUR REAR AND GET THERE. Man up. Keep your promises. Look into a girls eyes and see more than her southern exposure. Leave behind the hebetic madness of a base mentality. Grow up. Get yourself more ambition in life than just your primitive drive. Act like you’re more than just a roadkill wannabe.