Happy Ending

But Rich, real life, blah blah, take it seriously, blah, no really, blah blah blah, suffering.

Come on, there is a formerly living pine tree sitting in the other room, adorned with miniature light bulbs, with a “tree skirt” around its trunk, and I’m supposed to take life seriously? What credibility does life have at this point?

For instance, millions of years of evolution hasn’t lead to an advanced civilization of super humans, but a bunch of bickering brats that collect useless stuff, play dress-up, and complain a lot. And despite thousands of years of human civilization, no one knows what’s going on here — really?

To be fair, life never indicated that I should be taking it seriously — it’s my own fault for looking at everything so solemnly. I suppose I got caught up in it, I thought everyone was completely serious — I didn’t realize things were being done with a wink and a nod.

So no, I can’t take it seriously anymore. But that doesn’t mean I’ll throw matches on the fire, I’m not content to watch the world burn. I’m not entertained by suffering, but by the removal of it — I like happy endings to my stories.


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