All the reproductive slighted, upset with their lives. Spawned versions of the parents themselves, (along with) the stupid ideals they mime. Glum faces on the bus with strollers in tow, disinterested with the fascinations their kid shows. Another question, another question, always with the fucking questions. When will my offspring become as world weary and impartial as I am? Settle them down and knock them out. Throttle their curiosity and foster their doubts. Make phantoms of pain and truth. Show symptoms of imperceptible gloom. Teach them to draw strength from your backwards tribalism. Impeach their disdain for you while lamenting this schism. True to plan, they’ll never talk to you again.