Who Will Be Crowned Dumbest Generation?

Monday has crept in on Bloomfield's meaty paws. As the summertime sun angles to beat down on the unmasked, farmer-tanned citizenry unabated, Yours Truly Dooley® and the station house Quaran-Team™ endeavours to carry on—as calmly as the stitched tapestry in our entryway instructs—in our locked-down Internet policing capacity. Judging from the social tedium on display this weekend in every corner of the vast, serpentine Arnold "Alf" Gore Memorial Misinformation Superhighway™, 'twould appear there's a race to the bottom for the title of Dumbest Generation; we are of a mind that Generations X, Y-The-Hell-Not and Z are all in contention for the dishonour. Indeed, our take on the endless and embarrassing spectacle of it all—the dopey hashtags and illogical invectives, the cheerless, typographically challenged political missives and embarrassing and distasteful photo shares—lead us to conclude that the lot of you haven't the sense you were born with and seem incapable of distinguishing between your arse ends, your bony elbows and your shattered cellular phone screens. If ignorance were bliss, you would all live out your days in a stuporous, shirtless reverie. 'Tis our informed belief that you don't know shite from Shinola®, Crayola®, Victrola®, Granola, Gladiola, Viola, Angola, Ebola, Coca-Cola®...and Corona®, as in the worldwide Corona branded viral contagion. Happy Monday, morons.