In general, post-modernism amuses me. It reminds me of my youngest daughter who called me at work one day when she was about 14 and asked if I knew where she could pick up “goth in a box.” This was about ten years ago when the world was engulfed in a new crop of emo-teens who swore they discovered The Cure and faked black nail polish with Sharpies. I had to explain to her that “goth-in-a-box” was what the more “senior goths,” whose looks were totally organic (of course), called Hot Topic because you could walk in looking like Ally Sheedy at the end of The Breakfast Club and walk out looking like her at the beginning of the movie.
Post-modernists, and their nearly uniform dogmatic anti-dogmatism and closed open-mindedness, are no different than the mall rats with their non-conformist uniforms. They think they are so special and unique in their carefully programmed self-realization that everything which is right is wrong, and that the wrong may be right. They are almost Gargamel-like.