R/T/M Read Online Free

continual advance of medical science, people are living longer lives, but medical science hasn’t done much to prevent the deterioration of age.
          People are living longer, but they’re like mummies, or zombies out of a George Romero movie.
          They cheated death, and death in its disappointment lingers around them like a fart in a car.
          The old are the ghosts of the young.   They’re already dead, but they just don’t know it yet.
          The social security system is already over-taxed by the unnatural extension of human life.
          The financial burden of the old on the young steadily increases.
          The age for retirement gets rolled back every now and then.   But how long do you think the young will complacently tolerate being forced to sacrifice a steadily increasing percentage of their wages to support a class of s ociety that, embittered by their dwindling vitality, think that their artificially enhanced ability to defy death makes them a privileged class entitled to all of the benefits of society without doing any of the work necessary to keep things running smoothly?
         With all of their complaining about the youth of today, they continually piss in the punchbowl of the hand that feeds them.
         Eventually the young and able are going to get sick of it.
         When do you think that resentment of the burden of supporting the elderly will eclipse parental fidelity?
         How long can you live on your knees, with someone else’s shit under your fingernails?
         The young will realize the old for what they are.
         Dead weight.
         The pilgrims had things worked out.
         They figured it out pretty quickly.
         There were those that thought themselves aristocratically predisposed and thought that working the land was below them.   But after that first winter they figured things out right fast.
         “He who does not work will not eat.”
         Do you think that people have changed that much since then?
         The shit will hit the fan, and the planes will hit the buildings.
         I think it’s going to be great.
         I hope I’m alive when it happens.
         Only the smart, the quick, and the strong will survive.
         And as much as I’m as full of myself as anybody else that spends their lives covered head-to-toe in their own bullshit and convinces themselves that it doesn’t stink.
         As much as I rationalize how I’m different and special and better than everyone else.
         As much as all that, I’m not entirely confident that I’m going to be one of the ones around after the great instant death dodgeball game which is bound to occur when reality shows become reality.
         I don’t think I’m going to get eliminated in the first couple of episodes, but I’m bound to get voted off of the island given enough time.
         When the supermarkets have all been picked clean and left to rot and fall in on themselves.
         Sure I’m smart and fit and capable.
         At least a lot smarter than most people.
         But it doesn’t matter how smart you are when there are five guys that have their minds made up to take what you have for themselves.
         Your food or your woman or your life.
         Sure you can get some weapons.   Some firearms.
         Stack the odds.
         Prepare for the inevitable.
         But when society implodes, even the bullet factories are going to stop running.
         No matter how strong you are, there’s always someone stronger or a couple guys that might not be as strong, but they’re willing to work together to take your ass out.
         You’ve got to sleep sometime.
         No matter how smart you are there’s always someone that’s smarter.
         Unless you’re fucking Stephen Hawking.
         But when the time comes, he’s going to be one of the first to go.
         A paralyzed