The Shockingly Little Amount I’ve Paid For Cars In My Life

On January 27, 2025January 27, 2025 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

A sentimental listing of my senior vehicles current and past.

I’ve never been a car guy. Probably that’s due to growing up dirt poor. It’s not like I had a choice there anyway. But it’s more than that. A lot of guys connect their whole identity or sense of masculinity to a set of wheels. I never did that. Never cared.

Sometimes, I wish I could be a car guy. One of those guys who waxes eloquent about this engine or that engine. But for me, a car has always been a metal box with wheels meant to get me from one point to another.

I currently drive a “senior vehicle,” as I’ve written about in the past. Which is a nice way of saying it’s a beater. Even though I could easily afford a new car in cash, I choose to keep driving like I’m broke. I love my old Saturn. She’s a stick shift coupe with almost 200,000 miles. She’s semi-retired now. I’m fortunate to have a work truck I use to get to where I need to, you know, work. And because I live in a small town, I really just use my car for grocery store runs, and the occassional day trip across state. Even in brutally cold winters and burning hot summers, my senior vehicle has just kept chugging along on her minor assignments. Eventually the day will come when she’ll finally give out. When that day comes I’ll give her a Viking funeral for her many years of service. For now she just keeps hanging on like a loyal dog.

Just yesterday I calculated about how much I’ve spent on vehicle purchases over the course of my driving life so far, and I was shocked. I’ll itemize all of my car purchases in a moment, but I’ll just state the number up front here to get it over with. This is approximately how much I’ve spent on cars over 26 years of driving:

— — $12,500 — —

That’s it. From age 16, when I bought my first car, until now, at age 42. Not even thirteen grand. That wouldn’t even buy half of a new base model Honda Civic nowadays after taxes and fees. This absurdly low number is an aberration when you consider that most people are driving around with ginormous car payments and cars that cost as much as houses. I know a guy at work who got a raise, then immediately ran out and financed a $65,000 SUV. That’s more than 5x more than what I’ve paid for vehicles my whole life, just on ONE purchase. Insane.

My first car was a 1982 Buick Skylark. Cost — $200

The same make and model and year even of the car in My Cousin Vinny. I bought it from a mechanic who was a friend of the family. You always remember your first time. My Skylark had a weird tick where it needed to be warmed up for several minutes before it could be driven, or else it would stall out. So, everytime I started it I had to sit there and let it idle before I could go anywhere. Not the worst feature, really, as I used to smoke at the time, and I was a teen with not exactly the busiest of schedules. I’d sit there and smoke a Marlboro, then take off.

My Buick wasn’t exactly a hot rod. But it only cost two hundred. Eventually, when it became impractical to fix, I wound up donating it to some veteran’s charity. I wish I had taken some pictures of it, or at least appreciated it more while I had it. That car represented a big life transition for me. I moved out of my parent’s house at 17 and graduated high school in that car. I miss it sometimes, but I’m glad it was able to go to help people in need at the end of its life.

My second car was a 1987 Toyota Celica. Cost ~ $1,200.

Aw man, I was hot shit driving this around. This was an upgrade. ’82 to ’87. A whole five years! It was a coupe, too, which meant it was practically like a race car.

I kid, of course. I liked this car, but I was never under the illusion that it was anything other than a semi-reliable hunk of aluminum. This car’s tick was an issue with the flywheel. Every so often when I went to start the flywheel would SQUEAL loudly. This made it super embarassing to drive, of course. So, I used to always look around to see if anyone was around before cranking the ignition.

I remember this car more because of how I bought it. I found it in the paper (this was the year 2000, mind you), advertised by this wealthy Main Line physician. It had been his daughter’s college car, and he was just looking to offload it ASAP. After agreeing to buy it, we went to the title and registration, where he proceeded to lie about the price of the car, saying it was $200 instead of the agreed-upon $1,200. This was to save money on taxes and other fees. I was kind of a naive kid at the time, so someone blatantly doing this just to save a couple bucks was a surprise. You mean people LIE to save money? OMG.

This car helped get through a few years of community college. It wasn’t the worst vehicle to have. But it’s not really a car I miss.

My third and fourth cars were 1990 Toyota Corollas. Cost ~$2,200 (combined).

Madonna had her goth phase. Western Civilization had its Romantic Age. I had my Toyota Corolla Era. This was a gilded period where I happened to luck into two very reliable Corollas of the same year back-to-back. The first was a plucky automatic that safely manuevered me across the country in a move from Pennsylvania to Tennesse, and then back again 14 months later. That one was about $1,000.

The other was a stick shift that I didn’t even know how to drive when I bought it. I was a quick learner, though. I’d practiced previously in other vehicles, and so was able to get this back home, only stalling out a few times in the process. This one set me back about $1,200.

Toyota Corollas are perfect little economy cars. It was such a shame I lost both of them due to accidents, neither of which were my fault. The first one I was rear-ended by a lady on my way to work. The other I was side-swiped by a tow truck. The cars were totaled each time. I miss those two cars, and I sometimes think that if it hadn’t been for the accident, I might still be driving the stick shift one. Oh, well. As my boss at the time said, “You can replace a car, but you can’t replace you.”

My fifth car was a 1990(ish) Toyota Tercel. Cost: $400.

I hate to speak ill of any of my senior vehicles, but this thing really was a piece of shit. It didn’t have a muffler, so it sounded like a jet engine driving down the road. It was coming apart at the seams when I got it, but I needed a ride to work, and so I had to get it.

Do you have any idea how nerve-wracking it is to drive on Route 76 from Philadelphia into New Jersey everyday on a rusted bucket of bolts that sounds like it’s going to rattle loose any second, leaving you sitting in the highway holding a steering wheel in your hands? It’s Heart Attack City, man.

Mr. Tercel only made it a few months before shutting down and needing a tow to the big junkyard in the sky. Good riddance, too, as he probably would have wound up killing me at some point.

My sixth car was a 1997 Nissan Maxima. Cost~$1000.

This was another short-timer. It’s issue was an ongoing oil leak. Bad, I know. Cars kind of need oil to keep running. Except I didn’t have any money to fix it. You might have noticed a recurring theme of low-income issues here. Just buying these cars themselves was breaking the bank for me. At the time I had to squeeze every dollar I could. I couldn’t afford luxuries like properly running engines.

I liked this car a lot when I first got it. It was smooth, roomy, and finally got me out of the year 1990, where I’d been stuck for almost ten years. Then the oil issue finally caused the engine to seize up on the highway, where I had it towed away for good.

My seventh and current car is a 2006 Saturn Ion. Cost ~ $7,500.

That brings me to my present senior vehicle. This was the first car I bought through financing. I’d never bought a vehicle other than through a private party prior to this, and always in cash, so this was a new deal for me. I was desperate for a car. I wasn’t happy to have to take on monthly payments for a vehicle. The whole thing felt alien and just plain wrong to me. Still does, actually. But I had once been a car salesman for Saturn some years prior, and I knew they were generally reliable vehicles. I happened upon a good deal for one in 2011, a month or so after my Maxima died, and with trepidation, signed for the loan on the dotted line.

I actually hated this car at first. She gave me nothing but problems the first year. She had some electrical issues that made the doors unlock and lock constantly. When it rained a leak let water in through the passenger side door. So during bad thunderstorms I’d come out and find the floor filled with water. She needed a water pump that cost me over $1,200 to fix. And she was a stick shift, too, which was a pain in the ass to drive in bumper to bumper traffic on the highways into work.

But looking back, my Saturn was one of the catalysts that motivated me to change my life and seek out better economic opportunities. See, between the auto loan payment and the insurance, I was paying over $500 A MONTH just to drive the thing. That’s not counting the cost of repairs, the maintenance, the gas, and the PA/NJ tolls. I was literally working just to keep the car, so I could use it to go to work to continue to pay for the damn car. A vicious, demoralizing cycle, to say the least. Plus, everytime something broke, I’d end up maxxing out my credit cards to fix it. Then pay off the card. Only for something else to break on it again and have to start all over. It was madness.

My Saturn got me out to North Dakota, where I eventually found work in the oilfields. She took me on a West Coast Tour, when I decided to use some time off to drive all the way from North Dakota to Washington to Los Angeles, to back home in Philly, to back in ND. She got me through my two last years in college. All while bravely surviving the brutal cold and winds of this upper midwest hellhole.

I paid my Saturn off way back in 2013. Her purchase price was something like $6,995, but after interest payments and such, it comes out to around $7,500 total. I wound up paying her off early, and then vowing never to finance another vehicle. I’ll ride a bike or thumb a ride before doing that. Fuck debt.

My Saturn is semi-retired now. She still runs just fine when I need her on a day trip somewhere. I give her oil changes early. I never take her out in bad weather. Baby doesn’t get her shoes wet. If I were forced to take a job where I had to drive my own car back and forth to work, or if I were to move to a city, I’d have to upgrade vehicles. But for now I’m in a good and rare situation where I can keep her for as long as she’ll run. When I travel longer distances I usually rent a car or fly. My Saturn could blow up today, and she would have paid for herself many, many times over. Hopefully, whenever that day comes for her to finally give up the ghost, there will be a place I can park her in the Louvre, because that’s where she belongs. Frankly, I don’t think I could ever give her up. We’ve been through too much together at this point. She’s gray and unassuming. Her driver’s side window molding flew off a while ago. She doesn’t have anywhere near the pep she used to have. But she still starts when I turn the key. I love her a great deal. Perhaps I am a car guy, afterall.

Is It Worth Keeping Tons Of Cash On The Sidelines Waiting For A Stock Market Correction?

On January 26, 2025January 26, 2025 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

A thought experiment.

Over a decade ago, after moving to North Dakota to work in the oilfield, I lived in a church basement that had been fitted with dorm-style units. One of my “basement mates” was a nice guy in his 50’s from Virginia named “Alan.” We got to talking one day and he told me how he had $50,000 saved up that he was planning on using in the next big stock market correction. This was only a few years after the 2008 Wall Street crash, so it was still fresh on everyone’s minds.

At the time, ND was undergoing a massive oil boom due to technological improvements in the fracking process. Everyone working in the industry was making huge amounts of money, and like a rising tide, that lifted other sectors as well. Cooks at fast food places were starting at $18 an hour and up. Wal-Mart was paying people $25 an hour. Rent skyrocketed, too. I paid $1000 a month for my tiny basement dorm.

Alan was a CDL treater truck driver. Basically, he drove around to well sites with a giant mobile furnace that could heat up oil and water, and flushed chemicals, water, or oil down well heads in order to keep the lines clear and lubicated. He was probably making around $160K a year with all the OT he was pulling in. So, it was no surprise he had piles of cash sitting around.

I remember asking Alan that if the market were to crash, at what point would he jump in with his war chest? When it was down 10%? 15%? 20%? He didn’t have an answer. Back then interest rates were super low. He was probably only getting around 2% max on a savings account. That’s losing out to inflation badly. The real rate of inflation is not 2–3% like the government likes to report. It’s more like 7% when you factor in everything like real estate, college tuition, cars, medical care — everything that goes into living a life.

Since my talk with Alan over a decade ago (around spring, 2013), the S&P has gone up 3.5x from 1680 to over 6,000. That $50,000 would be worth $175,000 today had it been invested in an ETF like SPY. Interest rates have increased modestly, going as high as 5.5% for some savings accounts when they were at their highest. But nowhere close to a 3.5x return like the S&P.

Worth noting: SPY was about $156 back then. The ETF paid out $1.97 per share in its last dividend distribution. Buying $50K worth of SPY then would pay you $630 per quarter now, and nearly $2,500 a year. That’s the same amount you’d get if you just stuck that $50k in the bank with a 5% interest rate. So, the dividends alone are matching savings accounts. To say nothing of the compound growth in dividend reinvestment, or employing other forms of income like selling covered calls.

Bottom line: Owning the S&P is going to likely give you 10%-15% returns every year over the long-term.

Also worth noting: the stock market hasn’t crashed like it did in 2008 since my talk with Alan. Even the brief Covid crash and the 2022 correction weren’t anywhere close to the near -50% drop seen in 2007 through 2009.

Here’s another way to think about it. Let’s say you have a million dollar stock portfolio in the S&P 500, and $100,000 in dry powder on the sidelines waiting to use for the next big crash. If stocks drop 10%, even if you timed the bottom perfectly, you’re only getting a 10% discount. How many years of dividend gains and compound growth did you give up for that “big” discount there? Obviously, you wouldn’t time the bottom perfect, either. No one can. Anything less than a 5% discount is only matching what you’d get in a high-interest savings account. So, it’d be a wash at that point.

But what about investors like Warren Buffett who keeps hundreds of billions in cash sitting around? What about individual stocks and investments outside the S&P?

Big investors like Buffett and others operate at such a high level that it’s hard to know their ultimate motives or aims. Buffett isn’t concerned with grabbing a mere 10% discount on the S&P. He wants to own entire companies or take controlling interests in things, like how he bought BNSF railroad in 2010. Accredited investors like him are also afforded “insider” opportunities on things that average investors are not, such as IPOs and such. An investor like him might keep cash sitting around waiting for an AirBnb to come along.

For the average “buy and hold” diversification-style investor, aka the one looking to retire at 60ish with one mil plus, it doesn’t make sense to keep tons of cash sitting around waiting on some big crash. Especially if you’re largely just buying the S&P 500 or the NASDAQ anyway. For someone like that, you really only need emergency savings PLUS “peace of mind.” Meaning whatever extra you need that helps you sleep at night. Five thousand, ten thousand, whatever.

For more active investors, more cash is going to be strategically optimal depending on their experience and timing. During market drawdowns, individual stocks afford better buy-in opportunities than the S&P, obviously. Buyers of META during Mark Zuckerberg’s Congressional hearings in 2022 could have bought the stock at near $100. It’s since gone up past $600. A fantastic return in only two years.

Last March, Reddit offered users the opportunity to invest in the company’s pre-IPO share price at $34. I bought some myself, as I talk about in this article here. Since the stock’s public listing, it’s gone up to $180, giving over a 5x return. That was a time when having some cash lying around proved a good idea for me. But remember, speculation is still speculation. Plenty of individual stocks that once looked like bargains have continued to crash.

I read articles saying you should keep 10–20% of your portfolio in cash sitting around for big opportunities. I don’t think you need quite that much. Ideally, you would simply take one investment’s profits to switch into another investment. After measuring the tax hit, of course. Then you’re kind of playing with house money. For instance, I sold a bunch of alt coins a few weeks back, some of which I’d made multiple x returns on over the last 18 months. I rolled most of the gains into my River exchange account where I get a 3.8% annual return paid in Bitcoin, while using the money toward my $20 daily DCA 2025 experiment. As Bitcoin hits certain benchmarks, I’ll likely ladder out some of my holdings into the S&P or into other assets. If I were to take, say, $50K out of my Bitcoin profit holdings for use as a down payment on a house, it’d be like I got that $50K for free. I also made that $50K way faster than it would have taken me if I tried saving it.

And that’s another thing to consider. It takes forever to save up cash even if you have a high income. Even if you make $100k a year, after taxes and expenses, it might take you a few years to save up a mere $50K. Meanwhile, the S&P is going up 10–15% a year, and other stocks or cryptos are going up big. Most likely, you’re better off just putting as much of your money to work as possible, and keeping enough on the side for emergencies and a little extra for peace of mind.

Tired of Getting No Matches On Dating Apps? Just Lower Your Standards Into The Basement

On January 26, 2025January 26, 2025 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

My brief experience with Match.com.

As an experiment, last night I created an account on Match.com. I know, I know. Why the hell would I do that in this day and age? Dating apps have gone the way of the dodo bird and all. Well, I like to think of myself as a sexy rogue scientist. I don’t have any credentials, degrees, or research papers to show for it. But so what? Edgar Allan Poe dreamt up black holes and the Big Bang theory (the theory itself, not that stupid show) while scribbling drunk off his ass decades before so-called “real scientists” confirmed them. If he can theorize things, I can too.

I says to myself, there’s just no way all these reports I hear of the shockingly low number of quality female matches on these apps can be correct. It has to be Red Pill Propaganda. Fake news designed to demoralize men so they don’t even bother trying in the first place. Disinformation to help juice the search algo for all those Andrew Tate “woman-hating” clones out there. I refused to believe any of that. I will remain an eternal optimist.

Anyway, I create my profile. It’s easy, and only takes a few minutes. I even uploaded a few hot pics of myself. I mean, all pics of me are hot, but just to clarify. After inputing all the necessary info, Match then confronted me with some criteria questions. Would you date a woman with kids? Since there’s not a “Fuck no, I’m not a step-sucker,” option, I had to contend with just clicking the box for “No.” Then there’s a tab you can click that says “must-have.” That means single mommies will be EXCLUDED from your results. Good riddance, says I. I’m not into funding some other man’s sperm bank. I mean, when you go into Mcdonald’s, do you start digging into the trash can for a leftover half-eaten Big Mac? No. You walk up to that counter and order a brand new one. Only degenerates, beggars, and the mentally ill eat out of trash cans. So, why would you treat your dating life any different?

Next came the age criteria. I’m 42 so I usually set the age between 27–35, but I was feeling magnanimous so I upped it to 37. I know super old Bill Belichick, 70s, is dating some hot chick in her 20s these days. But since I haven’t won any Super Bowls (yet) and I’m not worth $100 million+ (yet) I have to try to be realistic. It is what it is.

I live in the upper midwest, which is basically like living on Mars at a giant truck stop. So, usually on ANY dating app I have to expand the search zone out as far as reasonable in order to get any matches whatsoever. This time I set it to 350 miles. Though honestly, 345 miles of that is just me humoring the site. I don’t think I’d make the effort to even cross the street these days for a date, much less travel across an entire state. But you can’t just put five miles where I live, and even 50 miles wouldn’t be enough. Tree fiddy felt like a happy medium.

Then, it was off to the races. If by races, you mean a pitiful rogues gallery of candidates. Like, I’m pretty sure Batman fought some of the freaks I saw. Match doesn’t let you search by grid unless you have an upgraded account, so I was forced to inspect each profile one by one “swipe-’em” style. It took about as long to get through them as it does to read this paragraph.

How did I do, overall? It was absolutely awful, to be blunt. I ran into the same issue I had with speed dating, which I talk about in this article here. Out of about 20 or so candidates, realistically I’m left with only about 2–3 that are legit potentials. Meaning women who aren’t too old, aren’t fat, don’t exhibit a bad attitude toward men or have “trauma,” aren’t covered in sleeve tattoos, don’t have a list a mile long of necessary atttributes for the perfect man, and haven’t done the ol’ slut-to-born-again-Christian routine so many post-30 year-old ladies like to do these days.

Match has the gall to beg for pricey upgrades. Like I’m going to pay $40 for a meager 2–3 above average profiles that are most likely months old and long forgotten by their users, or are getting spammed by a hundred other dickheads on the daily.

Sometimes, Match would get clever and try to sneak one in from my reject list. I’d be swiping along and then suddenly see a half-decent female, click on their profile, only to see she had two kids at home, or see that she was 48 years old, or see some other disqualifying bullshit. LOL, nice catfish, Match, but this guy has standards.

It’s hard to understate how atrocious these results are. This is Match.com, which is basically the Wal-Mart of dating apps. The Match Group owns like half the online dating sites. I think Match itself is the biggest dating site on the planet. Yet by simply tweaking a few parameters over a massive region and adjusting for women in the PRIME dating/marriage range, I was met with nothing but slim pickens, though ironically few were actually slim. If Match results are total shit, I can’t even imagine what lesser sites might produce. Probably something from the Garbage Pail Kids. Gross.

It’s not really Match’s fault, I guess. They only show you whoever signs up. Dating apps aren’t as popular as they once were. The best people are typically not on or in need of dating apps. Or maybe they’re using Facebook, Instagram, or other sites.

Then it hit me. My eureka moment. What if I were to lower my standards? Or abandon them altogether? What if I tried removing ALL my previously set parameters. Surely that would open the floodgates of opportunity. Surely, by some chance, I’d happen across a nugget of gold in this landfill. Right?

Nah, fuck that, I thought, and deleted my account less than an hour after opening it. So long, Match. Burn in hell.

Years ago, when I was a little kid, I had this sudden weird urge to dig a hole in my backyard one day. Why? Hell if I know. It made sense at the time. So, I grabbed a shovel and started digging out behind a giant bush in the corner of the property. I dug and I dug and I dug until it was past nine o’clock. The sun was still out as it was summer. I had probably reached maybe three feet and had a nice heap of dirt beside me. My step-dad came out and asked me why I was digging the hole. I didn’t have an answer. What kid has a rational explanation for anything he does? I just kind of stood there, shrugged, and then went back to digging. He was wearing shorts and tube socks pulled all the way up. He was the kind of guy who needed his tube socks always pulled up past his calves. He stands there a bit. I keep shoveling with his stupid step-dad tube-socked feet in the corner of my eye. Finally, I hear him sigh and then walk away from me, leaving me in peace at last. Not long after my hole has become the shape of an upside-down tear drop as I couldn’t flatten the sides anymore. And that’s when I see something at the bottom.

A little piece of blue something. I reached down to pick it up, straining my shoulders against the top of the hole, until I am able to pinch it between my fingers. It’s a piece of plastic. Maybe from a shopping bag. Or perhaps the coating of a pipe that peeled away. Except there’s no pipe in my hole. It’s just this random tidbit that somehow got down in the dirt and stayed there until I rescued it from oblivion. I take this little blue “treasure” inside with me and store it away. I’ve since lost it. But it became a haunting metaphor for life about chance, timing, opportunity, and such, that I’ve thought about from time to time. I’ve applied the metaphor to job searches, school applications, business ideas, stories, and now of course dating websites. Dig and dig only to end up with a piece of trash. But who knows. Maybe if I’d dug just six feet to the right where my step-dad’s tube-socked feet were standing I might have dug up a wheat penny. Or maybe hit an electrical line and shocked myself to death.

Parents Really Don’t Do Jack Shit These Days

On January 1, 2025January 1, 2025 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Do they think their kids come shrink-wrapped in perfect factory form? Cause they sure as hell don’t.

I told the tale of the Ravaging Ice Cream Brat a few years ago in my article/rant against sugar and obesity. But I’ll briefly tell it again here.

I was in Wal-Mart waiting in line at the return counter for some stupid reason I forget. While there, I saw a kid who looked nine or ten years old or so and his mom waiting in line. Well, the mom was in line. The kiddo, who was adorned in baggy sweat clothes and looked like a pile of laundry sprung to life, was sprawled out on the one bench, legs spread, one hand fiercely smashing virtual buttons on his smartphone. And whining. Whining, whining, whining about being hungry. So he goes to his mom and begs for a snack. She, without even looking, as though she were spreading bread crumbs for an obnoxious park pigeon, digs into a box of freaking ice cream sandwiches and hands her offspring one of them. The kid tears it open and returns to the bench. All the while his stupid phone game jingles and jangles as he plays it with one hand while stuffing his face with the other.

Now, I don’t think this is an overreaction, but I wanted to punt that kid across the room for acting like that. I stood there in awe watching the tragic scene unfold. You could tell this kid knew how to whine his way into anything, and the mother always, always gave in. He was already fat. Fat at nine years old. The mother was fat. Both had that slovenly, insolent look about them that makes your blood boil and hate humanity.

I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was absolutely unacceptable to behave like that for me growing up. Sure, as a little kid I was rambunctious. But once I was old enough to understand the English language and the concept of right or wrong I knew to be on my best behavior in public. I never acted uncouth, certainly not as old as nine or ten or older.

I wasn’t treated like some wild animal that needed to be placated with sugary treats and electronic distraction. I was treated like a person who required discipline and structure, which is what children need if they’re going to have any hope of reaching adulthood and NOT become gigantic useless assholes.

A few years ago I was visiting a former place of employment to fill out some paperwork. While there I had to sit next to a mother and her five-year-old, who was playing some game on his tablet the whole freaking time. I don’t know what this game was, but it involved capturing fruit or something, and so whenever this kid scored points or whatever, the game would loudly chime, “YOU GOT A BANANA!”

This was an office for a mental health nonprofit, mind you. Not the entrance to Disneyworld. Ironically, this kid and his stupid game nearly made me lose my mind. By the hundredth “YOU GOT A BANANA!” I finally shot a polite glance at the mother, who was playing on her phone, too, and she did finally lower the volume. Yes lady, I have ears. I certainly can hear your stupid offspring’s loud AF game.

An old saying goes that children should be “seen but not heard.” I couldn’t disagree more. I think children should be NEITHER seen NOR heard. In fact, I think children should be packed up and sent to one of those mean, nasty English boarding schools. Like the one in that Pink Floyd music video for “Another Brick in the Wall.” Where the guy yells, “How can you have your pudding if you don’t eat your meat?” Then, after they turn 18, those newly minted adults can be sent to college or trade school to become productive citizens.

Oh, that’s completely unreasonable. We should let them explore themselves and just be who they are. Children are magical little beings!

No, they’re not. They’re not. They are ignorant. They are stupid. They know nothing. They are clueless. They dont know “shit about fuck” to be blunt. When NASA was launching that gigantic V-2 rocket into space to land on the moon, do you recall seeing any 12-year-olds in that control room with the guys who had those crew cuts and pocket calculators? When you’re watching the Super Bowl, do you see any ten-year-old boys out there on the field throwing touchdown passes? No, of course not. Do you think Taylor Swift just accidentally wandered onto a stage one day with a guitar and became famous out of nowhere? Do you think her parents had to tell her sometimes, “Get in that room and practice that guitar!” I guarantee you they did.

Everytime I go out in public I see kids in designer clothes. Kids playing with smartphones. Kids acting like zoo animals. Kids that seem to run their families. All the while the parents stand there agape like zombies doing nothing.

NEWSFLASH: Kids will not magically fix themselves when they turn 18. An asshole kid WILL become an asshole adult 100% of the time.

I look around and all I see is parents OUTSOURCING every parental responsibility to someone else who is often just as irresponsible or worse. They outsource education to government schools. They outsource nurturing to daycare centers while the parents go out to work. They outsource time and attention to TV and movies and streaming sites like Disney and Netflix. They outsource all knowledge to social media — YouTube and TikTok. They even outsource sexual education. Do you realize that boys as young as EIGHT are exposed to hardcore pornography on their phones? Think of how much that’s warping their brains.

But you just said you want to send kids to mean, nasty English boarding schools. Isn’t that outsourcing?

In that case it’s okay, because it’s way better than them ending up flailing around like an untethered blimp in a Wal-Mart and munching on ice cream sandwiches for breakfast. There are SOME good places to outsource, and if parents are going to behave like brainless dolts then it’s better the kids go somewhere else where they can actually learn and develop. I’m all about practical solutions here not inflexible ideology.

Anyway, what is the result of all this awful outsourcing? Children in school today outsource their studies and their ability to think to CHAT-GPT. They don’t think critically, they just transcribe whatever the all-knowing all-wise AI computer in the sky tells them, as if they were ancient scribes scribbling out a prophetic vision of the future.

Parents today don’t even seem to really want kids. They regard their own offspring as if they were happenstantial bodily growths. Like talking moles. Something to be looked at curiously, then ignored, or left to the “experts” or “society” to deal with. Parents are letting teachers call the shots. The third grade teacher thinks Johnny should go on Ritalin because he once looked out the window? Better medicate the hell out of our boy. Don’t want to disagree with an “expert.” Some 85-pound woman on TikTok is telling our 13-year-old daughter she should go on an all juice diet to stay thin? Well, we don’t want to interfere. Hashtag telling our kids to eat Tide pods for the lolz? We had no idea that was going on, honest.

Why do you suppose so many young men today have checked out of the dating market and aren’t looking for relationships? What do you think is really powering the incel movement? Absentee fathers. Why do you think so many young women are incompetent door knobs? Absentee mothers who would rather watch some trash on Netflix than prevent their daughters from getting an STD before their sixteenth birthday.

Point is, a lot of social problems these days can be traced back to shitty parenting. I’m not saying good parenting can fix everything. You can’t fix every person. Some kids are psychopaths, for sure. But you sure can mitigate a lot of issues out there.

Oh, but it’s so expensive to raise kids these days. You have no idea how hard it is. Both parents have to work. Inflation, cost of living, double-income households, etc.

Listen, I was born into poverty. I grew up in the lower-middle working class. I started working at 12-years old and haven’t stopped since. I had to pay for my own braces by selling candy door to door. Spare me your lousy complaints. I didn’t turn into some obnoxious hellion adult. Because as a kid I was disciplined and taught there is a right way to act and a wrong way. Not an easy set-up in life, but I made it through and didn’t become a felon or some adult loser who blames “society” for their own patheticness.

You can call me harsh. You can call me unreasonable. But you can’t say I don’t care. I care that kids today are raised right so they can be successful adults. I care that they have the tools they need to not just survive but thrive in the world.