Puke

Puke, yes that's what they do. All around me. Puke, all the time. Puke out stupidity, puke out irrationality. And that, that makes me puke too.
You thought the world was a fantastic place with fantastic people all around waiting to do nice things all the time, people who think for the good, people who can logically deduce what is good for them and for others, all the fucking time. What you don't realise is that the optimism they display is a fucking joke. To survive, you have to slit someone else's throat, directly or indirectly.
Humanity developed, they said, and that development makes them far superior than all other living beings and shit.
But who is to vouch for the fact that all this development was actually good for you? What significance do you have, a tiny speck in this swarming flood of six hundred million assholes, born to survive, and dying in that attempt to survive.
The world, my friend, is a pileful of morbid shit, courtesy us. When Holmes said he didn't give a boot if the earth goes round the sun or otherwise...I couldn't agree more with him. He knew as much as was needed to do his work, and for the rest of the idle time he lazied around injecting cocaine into himself. I don't think Holmes died an unsatisfied man, no way. Holmes was not crazy.
But you are, my friend. You crave for recognition, recognition amongst all those people who puke around, all the time. Why the should you, my friend? Have you no sense of time? I'll tell you what you should do: Not give a fuck! Yes, exactly. Try not giving a fuck as to what they think about you. If you can get enough to survive, as well as be happy, what else do you need? But then, again, you've been doped since your birth, you've been shown the upper limits of two hundred different things, without actually being shown the shady path of actually reaching the upper limit. And you fooled yourself into thinking that it was your upper limit too. You, at that very moment, fucked up your chance to be happy. A mistake which can only be rectified after a lot of sense is instilled in you, and that, my friend, is not an easy process. Till then, listen to the pukish shit, and puke around. Oh yeah, of course, there's always your saviour. God. When you meet him, give him a nice kick on his butt, from my side.

Yeah, I'm fucking grass-ed. So what? The very fact that you have nothing better to do than to read my insignificant pile of shit shows how big an asshole you are. No worries. I'm with you. Asshole.