I genuinely don’t care what the slang is today. It’s their right to use whatever slang works for them.
What I do care about is when my Gen-Z friends/Peers use that slang at or around me. Then; all I ask is that they have the infinite patience needed to put up with me going “WAT?” every once in a while as my slightly slower millennial brain fails to decode that slang fast enough to stop myself from asking “what the hell do they mean exactly?” and enough patience to slow their lingo down and explain what they mean If the message was intended for me.
Your GenX peers wanted the same from you, as did their Boomer peers from them. One day, those same zoomer friends of yours will be confused and annoyed by their Gen Alpha friends’ slang, and the cycle will continue.
And can I ask why do you give two shits what we think? Do what you love and fuck what we think… so long as it doesn’t involve secretly recording people in the bathroom or murdering people.
If there was hope, it must lie in the proles, because only there, in those swarming disregarded masses, eighty-five percent of the population of Oceania, could the force to destroy the Party ever be generated. The Party could not be overthrown from within. Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of coming together or even of identifying one another. Even if the legendary Brotherhood existed, as just possibly it might, it was inconceivable that its members could ever assemble in larger numbers than twos and threes. Rebellion meant a look in the eyes, an inflection of the voice; at the most, an occasional whispered word. But the proles, if only they could somehow become conscious of their own strength, would have no need to conspire. They need only to rise up and shake themselves like a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely sooner or later it must occur to them to do it.
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