Is your teenager depressed?
Throwing things? Sulking like she hates you and only speaking
in monosyllabic grunts and playing her Staind or Avril Lavigne
or Hoobastank MP3s way too loud? Sure she is. Damn kids.
Are they slouching way too much and wearing low-slung
clothes and locking the door to their bedrooms and
masturbating chronically, and then racking up huge cell-phone
bills as they complain endlessly to their best friend about
their unrequited loves and horrible parents and how much they
hate life and how they're always despondent and put upon and
pimply and miserable?
Solution: You need to give them drugs. Lots of drugs.
Expensive ones with nice little corporate logos on them. This
is the only way.
Haven't you been reading the papers? Watching the
commercials? Drugs are in. Drugs are the new black. Drugs rain
down from the sky like pretty purple Skittles. Drugs are
mandatory and the most important advancement in child rearing
since the invention of the cane and the padlock and the
No, not the bad drugs. Not the drugs that cool people take
and that make your kids party hard and dance all night and
that make their eyes all red and mushy and makes colors swirl
and skin feel like honey and makes them horny or hungry or
feel really really good for awhile, until they don't. Not the
ones that are cheaply produced and impossible to regulate and
as easy to get as degrading sexual misinformation in public
schools is. Not those.
No, your kid needs the other kind of drugs. The
good kind. The kind prescribed by overpaid shrinks
after the kid's umpteenth $300 visit. The kind that run about
seven bucks a pop and are made by Pfizer or GlaxoSmithKline or
maybe Eli Lilly, and which are roughly three times more toxic
and 10 times more synthetic and a thousand times more
spiritually debilitating than the "evil" street stuff, given
how they're totally legal and corporate sponsored and
therefore radiate this sinister venomous aura of happy
culturally approved doom.
Behavioral modifiers. Prozac. Paxil.
Zoloft. Effexor. Xanax. Et al. You name it, your kids can have
it, and probably should. Millions are already addicted.
Millions more will be by the end of this year, if not by the
end of this column. Maybe you're one of them, yourself. Hi.
Isn't the sky lovely today? Yes, it sure is.
Just look at them, the well-drugged teens of America, all
calm and happily narcotized, walking around with their eyes
glazed over and their shirts untucked and their souls drained
of all vital juices. God bless America at its world-record 25 percent mood-disorder rate! The
most-drugged nation on the planet! We're No. 1! So proud.
Don't you want your child happy and well-adjusted and
violently, chemically torqued, his or her entire body ravaged
by enough synthetic compounds and serotonin reuptake
inhibitors and mood enhancers to numb a horse? Of course you
Hey, they've done studies. Studies that finally prove once
and for all that Prozac is much more effective on your
depressed miserable slouchy door-slammin' punkass teen than
merely talking to him and loving him well and teaching him to
appreciate life and sex and spirituality and fine artisan
cheeses. So you know it must be true.
And do you know why? Why the Prozac is more effective?
Because it's a potent chemical narcotic, silly! It rewires
their brains and poisons their little juvenile blood vessels
and kills any pesky burgeoning testosteroned sex drive once
and for all!
Imagine! No more worries! No more teen pregnancy! It's just
like neutering your dog! Or getting a catalytic converter on
the car! Or laying down beige shag carpeting everywhere!
Everything calm and soft and nonirritating, all edges filed
right down. Isn't pharmacology fabulous?
Never you mind the pesky lawsuits. Like the one just filed
by the New York attorney general against Glaxo over how they
supposedly suppressed a bunch of studies that proved
how their beloved zim-zammer brain-slammer Paxil made a bunch
of kids even more twitchy and despondent and, whoops,
Shhh. Hey, it was only a handful of kids, all right? Maybe,
like, 10. Or 50. Who knows? "Acceptable losses," as they say
in military parlance. Small price to pay for a whirling nation
of numb smiling partially lobotomized teens who will open the
door for you and say yes sir and no ma'am and wash you car for
a dollar. Am I right? Goddamn right.
Never you mind, furthermore, that we have become a nation
of sweetly drug-addled automatons begging at the hand of the
giant pharmcos, and that only a fraction of the kids whose
parents now have them sucking down behavioral meds like
M&Ms actually need them, actually has severe enough
brain issues and chemical imbalances and psychoemotional
traumas that these drugs are small miracles.
Nossir, never you mind that the rest of those millions of
nubile doe-eyed Prozac/Zoloft/Xanax teen addicts are merely
being medicated to death for no viable reason whatsoever,
other than the fact that they're just a bunch of angry
depressed miserable angst-ridden teens and their parents are
sick of trying to cope with it.
But, wait, isn't the angry-teen thing a part of life? Isn't
that a mandatory stage for just about every kid nationwide,
right before they evolve past it and their skin clears up and
they finally get laid and then get old enough to drink and buy
a minivan and have kids and finally join AA like good
And is it worth noting, again, that most of our drug-happy
nation is merely seeking sad, silver-bullet relief from what
has become a truly staggering and vicious array of social and
government-sponsored ills, and are merely poisoning their
bodies and numbing their minds simply because they're stressed
and bored and overworked and undersexed?
Whoops, sorry. Got carried away there. Let's stay focused
on the kids. Happy, happy kids. Let's not get away from the
frightening fact that the U.S. now harbors millions --
millions! -- of Prozac-addicted teens and no one blinks an
eye, and yet one kid ODs on ecstasy at a rave due to rampant
insulting misinfo put out by the CDC and suddenly it's
furrowed brows and pointing fingers and scrunched imbecilic
senators railroading the moronic RAVE Act through Congress as they suck down
another fistful of Vicodin with their fourth martini. The
Whoops, sorry again. No name-calling. That never gets us
anywhere. Guess I'm just getting a bit angry. Maybe a little
frustrated at the rampant wholesale corporate-sponsored
government-enhanced parentally condoned drugging of kids in
this country, and what that means for our future, and theirs,
and the future of their attitudes and perspectives and the
deterioration of their brains, penises, souls, karmas, love
lives, vibration, evolutionary status.
Maybe I'm just getting a little too goddamn depressed by it
all. Maybe I just need a pill. And a drink. Ahhh, there now.
Much better. Thank you, Eli Lilly. We're No. 1!
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