We, the parental proletariat, entered into a covenant that was to be held sacred. We divorced ourselves from our freedoms and our livelihoods to contribute to the greater good. We threw down the goblet and took up the sippy cup all to serve our lineal lords. We bound ourselves to the Bjorn and hoisted the infantile nobility heavenwards so we too may see a higher ground.
Indeed, we did this of our own choosing. We did this, as well, in good faith with the notion that a measure of reciprocity on the part of our lords would be forthcoming. This contract, however, has been disregarded and our expectations, like so many a befouled diaper, have been cast aside.
We were once such a proud people. Standing firm in the knowledge that we had brightened our landscape with joy and affection and adoration – with new life! – we marched forward into the unknown. The new ruling class, cooing and wriggling their way into our hearts and souls, seemed to trumpet the onset of an era of collectivity and mutual benefit. The beacon of hope was bright.
Oh, how things do change.
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