In the old days, teenagers weren't, like, cool

By MARK W. MAYFIELD

This column is especially for my fellow disgruntled teenagers.

Don't you just hate the way our parents treat us? It's DEEEEsgusting! Like this morning, when I was talking with my dad, he's all, "Why would any self-respecting girl wear eye makeup laced with glitter?"

And I'm like, "Well, dad, maybe I wear it because it looks SO cool, and besides, all my friends do it."

And he goes, "If all your friends wore eye makeup laced with flesh-eating bacteria, would you do that?"

And I'm all, "I'm SO sure, Dad! That is SO not funny, and you are SO forgetting that I'm not a little kid anymore!"

And he gets, like, this SO weird look in his eyes and goes, "Please forgive me, my ancient, all-knowing daughter! I completely forgot that you've reached the 'age of omniscience.'"

And I'm all, "Yeah, right, dad, like 'omniscience' is a real word." And then he, like, puts his head in his hands and starts crying.

Now that I have your attention, let me tell you a little secret: I am NOT a disgruntled, grammatically impaired teenage girl. I'm actually an angry father who believes that glittery eye makeup should be illegal.

I'm also a proud member of your parents' generation, and I have a message for you disrespectful teenagers: If you don't straighten up and fly right, life will get mighty ugly around here.

In fact, at our monthly secret meeting, we parents unanimously approved a plan to ground you for 11 months and revoke your telephone privileges until March 2004. We're also considering telling your friends about your first nickname, "Daddy's little carpet pooper."

How would you like THAT, you back-talking little troublemakers? Don't roll those glittery eyes at me, young lady! And you, mister baggy britches, better listen when I'm talking.

As I was saying, your parents work very hard to provide the necessities of a comfortable life, but you greedy teenagers want more, more, MORE! Now you want a newfangled gadget called an MP3 player so you can download the latest alternative music from the Internet and then listen to hours of offensive lyrics that condone and encourage all sorts of abhorrent behavior.

You claim that the portable CD player we gave you for Christmas is "WAY too inconvenient." Well, let me tell you something about REAL inconvenience, you spoiled little brats.

When your parents were teenagers, music was recorded on pieces of flattened vinyl called "albums," and played on primitive contraptions called "turntables." All albums contained scratches that caused them to repeatedly "skip" during the best parts of a song.

The worst scourge of the 20th century, skipping, made a portion of your parents' all-time favorite song, Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, sound like this: "I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too (skip) lew too (skip) lew too (skip) lew too . . ."

By the time your parents realized that "lew too" was NOT an important subliminal message, they had intently listened to the skip for 25 minutes, which was 22 minutes longer than they ever spent on homework.

Widespread skipping devastated your poor parents, who wanted nothing more than the simple pleasure of staring at their black-light poster of Saturn while listening to hours of offensive lyrics that condone and encourage all sorts of abhorrent behavior.

To make matters worse, our cheap turntables were plagued by excessive "wow and flutter," an incurable condition that made a portion of your parents' all-time favorite song, Tin Man by America, sound like this:

"wE-e-e-e-lL o-O-oZ nEV-eR dID gIvE nOtHiNg tO tHe T-t-t-t-t-in mA-a-a-n ThAt hE dIdN't, DiDn-n-n-n-n-n't aLre-e-e-ady h-h-h-AvE. ..." This unbearable noise caused your parents to lose sleep at night and, consequently, doze off during important school tests. In fact, your tormented parents failed social studies and science, and barely passed Mrs. Shepherd's bonehead math class.

Now, before you whiny, unappreciative teenagers go to your rooms without supper, I want you to intently listen to a portion of your parents' all-time favorite song, Shu Ba Da Du Ma Ma Ma Ma by the Steve Miller Band, which subliminally encourages young people to shu ba (shut up and respect) da du (dad) and ma ma ma ma (mom).

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