As the song asks, where is the love, the love, the love? How come it’s so difficult for people to be good to each other and so easy to be terrible? Was it always this way, or is it getting worse? What, inside of us, is so driven to pervert every potentially wonderful aspect of our existence, or to take something wonderful and ruin it? Like sex.

Gone forever are the days of the Kama Sutra, love, and heightened awareness. Now it’s all rubber jackhammers, rape-fetish gang-bangs, and myriad other forms of traumatizing filth. If someone doesn’t get murdered, it’s not sexy. And at the mild end of the spectrum, it’s forced anal from a donkey while choking down human feces. Crying always induces arousal, so do some of that. Missionary with someone you love is for queers.

Sexual dysfunction is but one example of just how unhealthy we are as a species. But at least there are plenty of pills to enhance the deviance.

Where is the woman’s pill for increased stimulation? Oh, there’s no such thing? I guess it’s not a big enough market, and all horny women are whores anyway. At least that’s what the world’s been tricked into believing for the last couple of thousand years.

People are despicable. Press the buttons now, please.

The great fuckin’ reset.

If a person focuses on examples like that, it’s easy to believe that there’s no hope for us. And maybe there isn’t. But, really, who cares?

Sure, there are some nifty characteristics about humans as a species, but what difference would it make to anybody but ourselves if we all ceased to be? Just disappeared from the face of the universe right now?

Our collective arrogance is offended by such a thought, but it’s quite likely that the only beings that think we’re as important as we do are us. Little, tiny us. On our little tiny speck of dust, floating along in an infinite sea of ever-expanding infinity. Or so they say.

Many people would like to believe we’re of importance because the gods that our long-dead ancestors invented say so. And they can’t even agree on which gods. Instead, they kill each other by the millions, trying to prove the superiority of deities cooked up thousands of years ago by people that lived in a world we can’t even imagine. And they sure as hell couldn’t have imagined ours.

I suppose there may be some kind of all-knowing force out there. But whatever power that’s responsible for us was probably bored and created humans for entertainment. Now it’s utterly horrified by what it’s done, scrambling around like a maniac trying to clean up the mess before its parents get home. Crying and ashamed.

What have I done? What have I done? Oh my god, what have I done? It was just for fun, and now they’re creeping out into space to pollute and destroy whatever they can get within range of. My parents are gonna KILL me!

Sorry, all-powerful entity, you brought this evil on yourself. Your parents ARE gonna beat your ass, and you deserve it.

I really fucked up this time!

The galactic clean-up crew trying to round us up as we whiz between their feet, firing nuclear missiles into their midst. God, sitting in its room, wishing it could turn back time. God’s parents dealing with the authorities and too busy to deal with the All-Knowing-One. God slips out the window and runs away from home. Leaving no instructions as to how to deal with us. The only one with any knowledge of how we operate is officially on the lam.

The rest of the universe is too shocked to figure out a solution to the problem. Cordon off the galaxy and let us destroy ourselves. Instead, we spread until everything within our reach is dead or wishes it was.

Once, my brother, a neighbour kid, and myself started a field-fire beside a neighbourhood. It spread like crazy and all the men in the area had to come to their own rescue to put out the blaze before it took their homes. A Petri-dish example of the mayhem described above. I guess it’s just in our DNA.

Look to children to illustrate the true nature of man.

Love thy neighbour, and burn his family’s house down.

Aggressive infants bash the meek over their heads, ripping away tender happiness and traumatizing those that wish to live and let live. Like crocodiles or chimpanzees, most of us are not designed to be nice.

Amidst all this hopeless lunacy, it’s sometimes very difficult to find compelling reasons for putting effort into being a good person, never mind finding the will to love your fellow humans. Especially when it’s not something that comes naturally. But if those that aren’t naturally nice don’t do what goes against their nature, like trying to make the world a better place, then there’s definitely no hope.

If it’s too much to ask of yourself to be good for the sake of being good, try and find reasons that are bigger than you are. That shouldn’t be too difficult.

I happen to be aligned with a living angel who derives pleasure from being wonderful. I do what I can to be less of a piece of shit so all of her efforts to help me become a better person aren’t completely squandered. That, and I love her. Though, most of the time, the efforts put forth on her behalf to make the world a better place are for naught, as the targets of her benevolence aren’t worth the effort.

While it behooves the wicked to be less so, it also behooves us to help the tender-hearted in our lives become a little more jaded. At least jaded enough to avoid having their spirits completely crushed by the eternal shortcomings of humanity. If left completely unaware of the true nature of people for too long, the gentle ones often become irreparably damaged when they finally do realize just how horrible we are.

The poor things.

My goal in life has never been to help the great unwashed help itself, but I’ll do my part to help when it seems worthwhile, or when my wife insists, but I’m really only here to get what I can out of this life without hurting anyone that doesn’t have it coming.

Admittedly, this seemingly selfish attitude may have something to do with the difficulties consistently encountered on my journey. But I’m going to stay the course until I get to the destination I’ve set. I make no excuses for being who I am or wanting what I want, and I don’t apologize for it either. Nor do I give a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks I should be doing. My life is mine. Go waste your own.

I spit in the faces of those who tell me and my wife that we should fall in line and join the rat-race. You’ll be publicly singled out during acceptance speeches, book signings, and presentations, with little or no subtlety. And, at that point, I’ll have access to far better legal representation than you, so go ahead, initiate proceedings.

You’ll be my little side projects, something I dissect for amusement when I’m not winning in ways you couldn’t imagine for yourselves. I promise.

Oh God! With such an attitude, I’ll surely need an army of expert defence attorneys perpetually lurking in the shadows, ready to twist facts and pervert justice in order to keep me free so I can create more high-paying scenarios for them. It’s probably the wisest investment someone like me could throw money at. Because I plan on being a bit of a cunt forever.

No one is more hated than the fucker who speaks the truth – Socrates, sort of
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