I Pity The Next Generation

Heading to my third part time job in the 9 months since I lost my permanent one on the peasant wagon I am being regalled with the loud witterings of the back of the bus gaggle of that species known as Phylum Slaggus.

I don't want to listen, but short of switching off my ears I have little choice in being privy to their innermost thoughts on sexual conquest, the best ratio of cider in snakebite black and their spurious definitions of the words "slut" and "slag" which, luckily, tend to be just above their own estimate of how many they have slept with (direct numbers are impossible for the snakebite generation).

These girls can't be any more than 16.

This slatten generation has some serious problems.

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