The Millennial Manifesto

A Spectre is Haunting America - The Spectre of Basement Millennials.

(With an opening stolen from Karl Marx, but heck, he was a communist and presumably would want to share)

All the powers of Parentry have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre: Politician and Commentator, Sanders and Trump, conservatives and liberals. They want to stop paying for our cell phone bills. They want us to stop living in their basements. Where is the party in opposition to those who claim to "free" us from the subjugation of the basement?

It is high time that Basement Millennials should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the Spectre of Basement Millennials with a manifesto of their own.

Millennials and Parentry.

Ah, us Basement Millennials, (hereinafter referred to as BM’s). What a sweet life we lead. Ah, bliss, sweet existence at it's best.

Am I the only one who is perplexed by this constant cacophony of companies, government and politicians trying to determine the best way to communicate and market to BM’s?

I am thinking: we live in our parent's basements, and they want to communicate with us?

Heck, I don't even communicate with the people upstairs. At least I think there are people upstairs. For I venture out only in the dark, and then to hunt down my next bowl of left overs, or kill a box of mac and cheese — and if I am lucky, that far eastern delicacy known as Ramen.

I am a millennial; hear me roar.

First of all, why do we even have basements? You are closer to the center of the earth, so you weigh more, it's damp, the rodents are always visiting, and then there is the cancer causing radon. Hmm, I wonder if my parents really do love me, letting me stay down here and all.

I am a millennial; hear me roar.

The politicians say they want to get us millennials out of the basement. Really? Who asked them? Here I live and here I stay. No basement, no justice!

I am a millennial; hear me roar.

I shall not leave this, my birthright, as I dwell under the footsteps of those who conceived me.

It is bliss to enter and descend into my own catacomb where I light up the night with my computer screen streaming endless nonsense as I attempt to compose my own millennial version of upstairs downstairs.

I am a millennial; hear me roar.

Do these elite know-it-all's really think I want to pay my own cell phone bill, and give up free use of the vehicle? Not to mention, the food they leave around for me to graze upon.

I love my minimum wage draw.

I am a millennial; hear me roar.

I am a millennial; hear me roar. Witness my manifesto, hear me slumber beneath the floor.