I WANT TO RECLAIM SOME KIND OF NAIVE THEORY ABOUT MY DIRTY, INEVITABLE DEATH

YOU HAVE A MONKEY ON YOUR SHOULDER ONE MINUTE AND THE NEXT MINUTE YOU ARE PREGNANT. ONCE, I TRIED TO CONVINCE YOU TO CHUCK YOUR HANGINGS-ON TO THE PHYSICAL WORLD OR MAYBE YOU JUST TOLD ME ABOUT HOW SOME GUY CAME INSIDE OF YOU A LONG TIME AGO. I REMEMBER DRIVING HOME FROM YOUR HOUSE WHEN I WAS 16 -- STONED AS SHIT LISTENING TO BOB MARLEY AND THINKING THAT BOB MARLEY WAS SO DEEP AND ALSO THINKING HE WAS A FUCK BECAUSE I COULDN'T GET PAST YOUR BULLSHIT CUL-DE-SAC THAT WAS LITERALLY A HALF MILE FROM WHERE I WENT CAT FISHING AND ANOTHER HALF MILE FROM WHERE I GOLFED FOR FREE AND THOUGHT ABOUT HOW I COULD IMPREGNATE THE SMOOTH FAIRWAY. RIGHT NOW I FEEL LIKE EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE WHATEVER SHOULD LIVE AT LEAST A HALF MILE AWAY FROM EVERYONE ELSE AND JUST COMMUNICATE USING GMAIL CHAT AND ANNOUNCE THEIR BREAKFASTS USING TWITTER. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE DO THE MATH TO SEE IF EVERYONE ON EARTH COULD ACTUALLY EVEN BE ONE HALF MILE AWAY FROM ANY OTHER PERSON ON EARTH? I WANT TO TAKE THIS LAST PIECE OF MY TIME TO APOLOGIZE TO MY GOOD FRIENDS FOR SUBJECTING THEM TO MY ANGSTY EXISTENTIAL DIATRIBE THAT I THINK WENT LIKE THIS: WAH WAH SARTRE, SARTRE DIDN'T KNOW LOVE, WAH WAH. I KNOW LOVE AND I KNOW LOVE AND I KNOW LOVE. AND I'M SORRY, DEAR FRIENDS, BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE A SHIT FUCK DOUCHE WHORE ZEBRA WHO HAS PISSED A LITTLE UNFRIENDLINESS ONTO YOUR BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP GRASS.