YA'LL IS A BUNCH OF BITCHES

My grandparents are my heroes. No movie stars. No athletes. Just my grandparents. I try and emulate them as much as possible. It’s not difficult. Much of who I am was inherited from them.
Everyone should have heroes like this. Real people. Old people. Their stories are amazing. Their lives are inspiring. And they were born with an inherent toughness most people can only dream of possessing. A toughness that spans through the physical, mental, and emotional. You don’t wear anything on your sleeve. You control it, hide it, and deal with it on your own. You take life’s hits, and get back up, fighting. You never admit defeat. You never give up.
I mention all this because of a dream I had last Wednesday. It was the kind of dream most people can only, well, dream of having. I realized my life’s calling in it.
In this dream, I opened a school. It was no ordinary school, mind you. It was one of the largest educational academies in the United States. (Sorry, other countries.) The student body equaled an overwhelming percentage of our nation’s population in number. Classrooms were overcrowded. Teachers were, as is the American way, underpaid. Tuition was state-sponsored.
My school? A school for bitches. And, believe you me, it made the world a better place, because right now, at this very moment, ya'll is most definitely a bunch of bitches.
No, that’s not “bitches” in the dictionary definition sense of the word. Nor is it the popular derogatory term for human females. I mean “bitches” as in “people of the whiny, punk-ass sort.” And, believe me, there are a lot of you.
I’m not sure what it is exactly that turned the majority of Americans into sappy, apathetic bitches, nor am I able to pinpoint precisely when it happened, but it did. And it’s annoying.
There are irrelevant things you tend to be a bitch about. Like, for example, complaining about a little titty on TV. Lest you forget, you spent the earliest meals of your life with one in your mouth. A tit, not a TV. You’re a bitch because you want instant wealth and fame, not the kind you have to work for. You want lottery winnings, not the genuine sense of pride for earning what you have. You’re also a bitch for hating your president, and the self-serving war he initiated, but being too afraid to admit it, so you hate more on the people who aren’t afraid to shout it from the mountain tops.
There are also very relevant things you earn your “bitch stripes” with. Like complaining about how hard your life is. Your job sucks? Poor baby. Find a new one. That’s what I do. Yes, it is that easy. And it works. Unhappy in love? Get the fuck out. It, too, is that easy. Be it mere dating, or major marriage. You just need to find your balls, which you haven’t had on you since you became a whiny bitch. They’ll give you that toughness you so desperately need.
Not that it ends there. Your bitchedness is rooted in an almost infinite number of sad, pathetic complaints. Makes me wonder if I’m the only one who has grandparents. Maybe I’m just part of a very, very minor minority, which is really, really saddening. If everyone had grandparents, they’d probably be a whole lot less of a bitch, and I’d probably respect them a whole lot more.
Sure, you’re a bit upset. That’s because you are one of the whiny bitches I’m talking about. Only a punk-ass bitch would be upset at this article. It’s just like when stupid people get pissed off at you for calling them stupid. No one likes getting called out for what they truly are, except assholes like me. We love it.
But hear my plea: I worry about you all. I wish you all would toughen the fuck up and realize that life is goddamn hard and nothing comes easy. I wish you all would have some common fucking sense and stop pissing me off with all your goddamn complaining. And I wish, most of all, that you all would just take the fucking initiative to find some grandparents-- any grandparents-- and learn what it means to be a fucking human being.