On September 17, 2011 in Zuccotti Park, the Occupy Wall Street movement was born. For those of you who have no idea what the Occupy movement protests are or what these homeless looking  vocalizers  are exactly screaming about, do not fret; neither did I. Mainly for the fact that they don’t seem to know either.

History has officially repeated itself in a lower standard compared to the opposition of U.S . involvement in the Vietnam War in the 1960’s. Those kids knew what they wanted. These new wave revolutionaries are coming off as uneducated children screaming for their dinner meal at a mother who neither has the ability to care, nor the desire to.

To be clear, I’m not bashing the movement. I just have no idea what it is the Occupiers want. People are being drawn in to rallies for the mere fact that other people are already there. Give them a sign with a cheap hyperbole and a pin with a violent rhetoric, and you’re good to go.

The main issue I have is that when I ask an Occupier about their cause, I get the kind of response you would see from a stereotypical hippie in a movie: along the lines of, “They’re taking our money man!” or “What the government is allowing is wrong!” They sound absolutely idiotic. I expected more from college dropouts. Before being allowed to pitch a single tent, they must be force to memorized this statement to keep from sounding like pretentious hipsters in gang form:

“The goal is simple: to oppose Wall Street’s risky lending practices of mortgage-backed securities which ultimately proved to be worthless and ultimately had a hand in the recession back in 2008.”

That’s all they would have to say say. Then I would just nod, thank them for their time, and walk away. I might even march with them with this knew knowledge just recited to me.

For those who can’t understand the picket signs, allow me to translate:

“Behead the Banks!” means “My arms are tired.”

“We are the 99 percent!” translates to “I just realized the 99% are the poor people.”

“Close tax loopholes!”  equals “I’m so angry that I made a sign.”

When the recession hit, my father had just retired from the military. He struggled to find a job. But you know what he did? He looked for another job, and then another. And you know what happened? He found one. And guess what happened after that. He got promoted.

Graduate. Get a job. Pay your bills. Die quietly.