This is my worried face.
Chicago Cubs winning the World Series. Donald Trump elected President. A three-year long pandemic. Russia declaring war on Ukraine.
I'm getting tired of this once in a lifetime shit. What the fuck is next? Aliens descending from the heavens? Nuclear fusion? A Star Wars movie that satisfies all corners of the fan base? God forbid, Half-Life 3?
Reality has become surreal, to the point where I expect the unexpected. I'm fucking Batman at this point, planning for contingencies within contingencies. Does any of it make goddamn sense? No, of course not. But I'm the fucking Batman.
If only, right? Would a billion dollars take the bite out of uncertainty? Would it alleviate my fears of global war, disease, or catastrophic climate change? Is there a reason besides ego for Elon Musk's Martian ambitions? Questions bequeath questions, and answers are as fleeting as optimistic thinking. In response to runaway inflation, should I be putting all of my money into something tangible, like gold or silver? Or should I ride the river of the stock market? Who the fuck knows.
I'll tell you what. I hope the goddamn aliens come down from wherever and clean up all of our mess. Tell us that we're not fit to govern ourselves, let alone manage a planet or a nuclear arsenal. Put the natural system back in order. Clean up all the microplastics in the ocean. Suck up all the excess carbon in the atmosphere.
I've had enough of these interesting times shit. Give me Leave it to Beaver and lazy Sundays. Wake me up in some sort of Mormon alternate universe, where everybody is as bland and wholesome as a piece of white bread. Well maybe don't go that far. But let's reel this crazy back a bit. I don't want to see the fall of democracy in America or world wide ecological collapse. Please?
Wait a minute. Is nobody in charge of reality? Who's overseeing this simulation? Where's Lawrence Fishburne with his pills?
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