There’s nothing that says “I’m home” like a summer T-storm, gnats to the face, and the clumsy hollers of preteen boys in Etnies sneakers riding trick bicycles. And while I love watching booming black clouds encroach on my day at the beach more than most people, and I don’t mind swatting the occasional swarm of pests from my immediate facial vicinity while navigating a beach cruiser with one arm at 30 miles an hour along a busy 4-lane highway, I hate HATE the typical adolescent boy.
I recently watched the movie “World’s Greatest Dad” (2009), a creepily melancholy yet rather funny comedic drama starring none other than Robin Williams, as the hopelessly uncool father who hides the gruesome truth of his son’s suicide with a forged final adieu. Robin Williams plays a very fine do-gooder, the film has a nostalgic 90s flair, and it was written and directed by a man named Bobcat Goldthwait—-a recipe for success if I’ve ever seen one. But what tickled my narrative-craving taste buds most of all was the very succinct compilation of all things I hate most in the world in one character—the porn-addicted teenage son and star of the show.
This is not a rant about porn, about how it sucks the love out of loving and adds a violent lens to a young man’s perception of physical closeness, but about teenage boys and how, in general, I hate them. In “World’s Greatest Dad” the boy Kyle, perfectly played by Daryl Sabara (I don’t know whether this is good or bad), lives and breathes only naked girls and video games. He hates his father, hates females and his lack of attention from them, hates jocks and emo kids and band nerds and everything in between, disrespects his teachers, disrespects his father, and mistreats his best friend, a young dorky boy who has legitimate reasons for shyness (I believe there is a clear distinction to be made). In one scene, Kyle meets his father’s new girlfriend and immediately questions her about her favorite positions and whether she likes to dominate in bed, and spends the duration of dinner taking photos of her nether regions from under the table. In the morning, he is found dead in his room, having accidentally strangled himself while masturbating to pictures of his middle-aged father’s girlfriend on his shiny new piece-of-shit Dell.
I very much dislike teenage boys who have Dells and think that they are hot shit because they can play flash games about war and aliens and Sims. Even more so I dislike those who feel themselves to be especially smokin’ piles of poopoo because they have seen fake boobies and fake vaginas on a website that will sell their email addresses to Neopets. I dislike boys who will watch me, obviously somewhere between the age of 15 and 22 but definitely more dignified than they (who appear to be about 12 and who wear their pants just below their tiny hairless butt cracks), ride by on my bicycle, covered in sweat and at least 3 layers of gnats, and holla’ holla’ “HEY BEAUTIFUL” like they don’t live in Satellite Beach and aren’t sitting outside the Teen Zone waiting for their mommys to pick them up from pottery class in white, gnat-bespeckled minivans.
They would not yell at me if I were walking, or riding my bike at a slower pace, or if I was accompanied by a rabid raccoon or a Canada Goose. I am blonde and under the age of 30, therefore society tells them to yell at me from a distance. Next time it happens, I am going to pull a JennaMarbles stunt and ride those motherfuckers DOWN with my back-peddal-brake bike.
What annoys me the most, however, is teenage boys slightly more fermented, at the age of 16 or so. At this point, many assume that they are men because they can play tackle football. They think they are worldly because they have gradually began to understand the babble of adults (think a sudden clarification of the teacher’s prattle in Charlie Brown), and can now mimic exactly what their born-and-raised Floridian pops say and do. They have become acquainted with common thought-less and over-beaten arguments like “I have to find a woman that can cook my favorite toast and pick the lint out of my socks”, and “Title 9 is dumb”, and “Women’s basketball is stupid”, and “boys are better at math”, etc. etc. This breed of teenage boy does not want to have a conversation with you about gender in the 21st century, he wants to regurgitate something invective and insensitive that he heard his beer-gutted father gaffaw at on Imus in the Morning, all while using the basest of adjectives (at least be original if you aren’t going to back yourself up with statistics). This breed of boy thinks that his pecs will always be tanned and oiled and his hair always shiny, that the sexist things he repeats aren’t damaging to his girlfriends and sisters and female relations. And what annoys me the most is that I fear he wont ever change, that he wont ever need to change because there are teenage girls just as silly, willing to drop tou’ at the mere sight of his willy (didn’t see THAT rhyme coming did you?).
I don’t mean offense to those fine upstanding teenage boys out there, or those honorable young men who rose above their youthful ignorance to become valuable and deep-thinking members of society. I simply think that the level of immaturity is becoming ridiculous and unacceptable, and someone needs to step in to tell them what the fuck is what. Therefore, I will continue to jump at the chance to challenge young boys on my former swim team who I do not know when they throw out such raucous comments, because he who utters such an ignorant thing is just asking for some edumacation.