Once upon a time, "My, My, My," was what Grandma said when seeing our really good report-card. And "me-me-me" was reserved for singers warming-up. Sadly, both have become the self-focused calling-card of the "It's-all-about-me" entitlement generation. Well beyond just promising a hamburger "your way," it's a pervasive, socially-engineered "I've-gotta-be-me," means of self-glorification, further-convincing the flock that it's them, around whom our solar-system now rotates. Increasingly the age of self-interest, satisfied, preferably, through little or no self-effort, banking, literally, on hand-outs, from an all-powerful central government, focused, ironically, not on individuals, as the "Me" clan thinks, but rather on the collective, a captive-herd of passive human cattle, that expendable-mass ultimately populating Marxist regimes.