“The Disposable Generation”

Written by Alex Hickey

A trip through the dark pits, rancid nooks and crannies, and soft white underbellies of a generation of wild animals that have a newfound freedom from the circus of society and are now running wild without, socks, shoes, neck ties or even waistcoats.


Tuesday 27th July

If meat is murder then affluence is fraud. It’s awfully hard to plan leaving the damn country when your boss makes it so easy to stay. Istanbul’s political climate is on the verge of explosion at any moment and Korea’s half way across the goddam world. And when you’re being offered €25 to €35 an hour to stick around, all a guy can do is sit in the sun at some trendy cocktail lounge and sip up the sun. But the rent is too damn high and everyone’s always honking or shoving or causing some damn ruckus, it’s too hot in summer and somehow despite there being no snow, it’s too cold in the winter, no one takes you seriously unless you speak the language and even if you do, they’ll treat you like a dumbass, the politicians run wild like pigs and the pigs have nothing but blind eyes; but anyway, I digress.

I was over at a cocktail waitress’ place after she had asked me to come home with her the other day, the situation was tense, early afternoon and pounded, something had to be done, but what? Youth is a great thing when you’re in the right place. And before too long I was back on my bike home, but that’s just it, we are a disposable generation, wine, dine, bed and put them back out into the streets. What can a young swine do in this world but go with it, this island thrives on entertainment and if you’ve got the cash, we’ve got the time.

Later in the day I was driven up to the casino and was itching to play some cash, slightly drunk and surrounded by an intense aura of hubris, a good time was guaranteed for all. We parked in the validated parking and made our way in, only to be confronted by two young, good looking girls in Vegas like attire. They promptly asked us for our casino card or to start an account with them. I was up the creek, left my passport back home and law demands a casino account. I guess I wasn’t as lucky as I had originally hoped; no point in arguing; starting a fight with a bouncer shows dominance around here but when confronted with a pretty face, you only feel like a fool. The moral of that story would be never hit a casino in Malta without your passport.

Shortly, we were back in the serenity of a local tavern, where it seemed many others had gathered to partake in more evening indulgence. My friend for the evening was headed back to Korea the next day and we were taking the time out to enjoy our last few moments together, the Mediterranean way.

After a quart of good Japanese whiskey and Czech beer; the crowd around us was getting restless and between the fat man’s pants falling down as he tried to grope the girl he had just met and the older gentleman almost vomiting across the front of the store, my Korean friend, a more conservative type, was more than a little amused by the whole scene. The bartender on the other hand was not at all amused by the fact that this group of delinquents had been drinking bottled liquor at his establishment without paying the extra fee for not buying by the glass, a bit harsh? Perhaps, but who wants to spend €13 for a cheap bottle of French wine just for the luxury of drinking it at the same damn place, moreover, who wants to clean up after that kind of shit anyway? Naturally once the older gentleman collapsed after almost punching the owner in the face, we knew it was time to make ourselves scarce.

This island is full of mystery and questionable behaviour and practices but, if you can hack it, it can be barrels of fun too. But never forget that this is the disposable generation and you can get tossed out just like any other wimp who walks in and can’t stomach his drink; don’t matter whether you come in on a mule or in a Ferrari; the premise is the same; until you’re not shit, you’re still shit…

We escaped the ugliness unscathed and headed for the corner store across the way. Lighting my cigar and taking a large swig of my Carlsberg, I reflected on all what had happened that day and I thought fuck it, what difference does salary make anyway? What’s the price of a good time and a fat man with his shorts round his ankles, that is true entertainment, and what’s the price of another bottle of good whiskey? What will get a cocktail waitress with good legs in bed? These are the fundamentally, core questions of a generation gone wild with pride and hubris. Who cares? As long as we out live our parents and don’t make such a fool of ourselves that it affects our social status! This is after all, the true Mediterranean, the land of the Roman vomitoriums, Greek orgies, Spanish decadence and the Arab spring, people have come and gone for generations and now here we are, thirsty for that next big high.

This is the land of id, the next big thing, lights, flash and glitz, Ibiza came and went, Majorca is putting limits on foreign visitors and Sicily is far too vast. Whether you want to relax after an all-night bender or simply check into a cheap hotel for a scraggly night with some girl that barely speaks English, we’ve got it all and in high supply too! Come and suckle at the tit of high society!

Just remember, if you’re going to roll the dice in these parts, always bring your passport and always have a getaway car, and more importantly, never wear loose shorts if you’re over two hundred pounds wide.