by Francesca Johnson
Millennials represent everything that is wrong with the world today, but it’s somehow not my fault despite the fact that I spawned two of them.
My kids expect a high standard of living, because I brought them up with foreign holidays, Sky telly and an obsession with bullshit aspirational lifestyle magazines.
When they want to continue to live in the manner they have been accustomed to by me, I like to accuse them of being greedy little bastards who need to stop wanking and drinking smoothies and just buy a house, for Christ’s sake.
You might think that expressing disdain for the generation I helped to create is an elaborate form of self-hatred. But actually the problems of millennials all come down to facial hair, drugs and laziness – all nothing to do with me.
Why won’t the entitled little shits, who are more interested in taking selfies with cat ears superimposed on them than moving out, leave me alone to salivate over Grand Designs in peace?
If they didn’t spend all their money on fancy iPhones they could start saving for a deposit. Then they claim they need to ‘keep up with technology to hold down a job’, but I ignore the little sods because I’ve finally got to Level 1,493 of Candy Crush Saga on my iPad.
