Charles Platt

The old duffers at Geebung RSL have been silenced today, after realizing that their birth into the single most prosperous period in human history doesn’t give them much of a right to complain quite as much as they do.

It is understood that just as the suburban pub/conference hall/aged care ward/casino was settling into yet another steady night of quiet Australians shuffling around with schooners of Tooheys Old and complaining about young people, an unfamiliar guest sauntered through the automatic doors.

“You drank from a personal garden hose?” bellowed a hunched figure in a toga.

The crowd turned in unison.

“Bloody luxury”.

“Back in my day we all drank from the communal aqueduct and lo and behold we all survived!”

“And it was lead-lined”.

‘And it went uphill both ways”.

“And we washed the communal poop sponges in it”.

The mood shifted from confusion to barely masked hostility.

“And who the hell do you think you are?” asked Rodney, a regular of the public bar.

“Lucius Magnus, and by Mars don’t you forget that young man. Now where was I, ah yes, this new age religious nonsense the youth are into these days. I mean really, a single God-turned-man preaching equality and justice for all? Sounds like a load of plebian lefty mumbo-jumbo to me”.

“Bloody first millennials, going and voting for whichever upstart promises corn and land. Back when the good old Catoists were in only proper Romans got anything from the state; I didn’t ask for handouts!”

“Except for the cabbage farm I was granted after my legionary service was over”.

Lucius then set about raiding the kitchen, looking for vinegar to drink.

No more to come.