. . . despite everything being a simulation, created to enslave the ignorant, and perpetuate the human race, solely to be used as money-making stock - not unlike cattle, fowl, or swine.
When subversion's obviously a coy distraction meant to lead us down endless dark corridors, where whispers of omniscient surveillance circulate like the very noxious air you're telling yourself you're breathing; when transcendence is impossible, thanks to your riddled, egomaniac mind, exploiting every digression to its fullest, bloodiest extent; when the very idea of individuality or self-actualization reveals itself to be nothing but a terrible ruse designed to kick out the clever and cunning ducks first; when all of this has proven true after hours and years of scrupulous, exhaustive pondering; when even so-called 'gateways' fail to assist, or even abate; when the hamster trips on his wheel, and, looking up from the pile of shattered teeth, finally sees the wheel, but no way beyond it; and when the universe chortles, there is but one solution; one piece of flimsy driftwood on which to dearly hold.
Me, I like to play with myself. Why, what do you do?