An Elder Millennial Remembers the Late 1900s

I do remember them days, clear as ever. Them green ol’ days when you could grow sound in a garden. Grew korn, and spelled it right too. Grew melons, blind as my third eye. We’d make jam out of pearls. Mixed it all up and boy your lips would be a’flamin’!

Son, back in my day, bizkits were limp, nary a pumpkin wasn’t smashed, and systems were actually made from a real down. Can you believe it?

But don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t all an oasis, wasn’t all Nirvana. You’d spot some spinning doctor out there surfing buttholes now and then. But it was better than Ezra. And we had the most modest mice, I tell ya.

Back then, girls were made of spice. Sublime too, heads like lemons, heads like radios. And their nails were nine inches long. We’d always try to spot them eating cake in the bush. Though we never did find out the addiction that troubled Jane so much, or her sister, Hazel.

Ol’ Dave and Matthew and me, we’d band together and go phishing, then pick cranberries and red hot chili peppers with Creed, who was a real weezer.

I was there the day Pilot was stoned in the temple. Sure was. We were outside just counting one crow after another, and here he come, Alice right beside him. They had her in chains, you see.

You could say what you wanted about presidents of the United States of America— without a filter, no doubt. That Warhol in particular—he was a bit of a dandy. I don’t recall if the sprockets were wet, or if just Toad was.

But the one clan you didn’t mess with was Wu Tang. That was a machine you did not want to rage against. Try it, and they’d collectively lock your soul up in an ayslum. All you’d have was a candlebox and some eels for dinner.

Those were the days. But it’s a blur to me now. Foo Fightin’ Incubus! I wish I could go back and live it all again. Blink 182 times and you’ll miss it.

Welp, grandpa needs to get him a nap. Hit the pavement, offspring. Can’t miss out on that R.E.M. sleep.