Zombie Invasion in my Suburb!

                                       

The streets here in my suburb are plagued with the living dead. Large groups of raucous, staggering teens walk in a cluster, howling spontaneously with frightening ferocity and causing every dog in the neighbourhood to respond with aggressive objections of their own.

The girlie zombies; with their bum cheeks enjoying the crisp breeze and their flat unspoiled midriffs on display are tripping along with the identically singleted and cargo-short wearing boy zombies. The boys with a beer stubby in hand and the girls a vodka cruiser, are headed in one direction only; their sole purpose… self-annihilation at the music festival down the road.

I can’t say I blame them for the rebel cry. 

It’s tough being a teenager these days. The price of the entrance ticket and drinks are extortionate… they have to get wasted before they get there even though it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning. 

They’ll be searched at the gate by the fascist bastards on security so they’ve stuffed a vodka filled hip flask snuggly amongst the tackle in their jocks.

A few will be there for the music, but many will be there with the sole intention of intoxicating their bodies until they’re so smashed they won’t remember anything about the day. Too bad that a huge proportion are underage; there are plenty of older kids to buy the alcohol for them.

I hate this time of year when I watch my boys transform into driven, obsessive zealots with the single-minded ambition of going bat shite crazy with the other horde of thousands, thumbing their noses at us… the parents, the establishment.

“You don’t have to be stupid with your drinking you know!” I said to my nineteen year old son and his mate as I drove them to a pre-festival gathering.

“Anyone can get drunk. It’s not a skill. Pace yourself. You can stay at a happy level all day and enjoy yourself without ending up in hospital having your stomach pumped believe it or not.”

I may as well have been addressing my sermon to the bottle of sunscreen on the dashboard. I watched him wolf down a Bacon De-luxe from Hungry Jacks, thankful he’d at least put a lining on his stomach.

I love my son; he’s a good boy with a kind heart and a generous nature.

I’ll sit white-knuckled all day wondering what’s going down but in my heart I’ll know he’s okay. 

But, what about the other angry young men fueled up on alcohol, steroids and an overabundance of natural testosterone pumping through their veins? 

The angry young men who don’t really know what they’re angry about.

What is it with the chip on some young men’s’ shoulders? Why are their lives so disappointing they have to mutiny against the tyranny of sensibility and normal society? 

Is it that they live such an instantaneously gratuitous lifestyle they've lost the lust for life which comes from working for what you want?

Are we giving them too much all at once and toll free? 

Are parents making too many excuses for them and not teaching them one of the basic lessons in life… good things are worth waiting and slogging away for and that 'the rules' are there to protect them.

What do you think?

                         John Butler Trio... Good Excuse.