Life to me feels like a particular sort of party. There is a lot of beer at this party. There's no reason for the party to be over at any particular point - there is nowhere else to go. There's just this party. There is, I must reiterate, a great deal of beer. Enough to keep everyone happy and warmly buzzed for a very long time.
A vast majority of the people at this party really like beer, any beer. They see this great heaping mountain of beer and - even in the face of so much bounty - grow both greedy and foolish. Normally kind, sane people suddenly argue that they are much thirstier than they really are. People are filling up buckets and guzzling until they get sick and pass out. Someone fills up all the tubs with beer, others readily swim in it. The lawns are being watered with beer. Someone builds a slide. The house is being wrecked. The party shifts from something pleasant to a fucking nightmare. There's more shouting and squabbling over the beer than there is pleasing conversation. People are peeing in the potted plants, the couch has been set on fire more than once, etc, etc.
Then, suddenly, at the ignoble surprise of all but a few all of the beer runs out. Just about at 2:15 AM in the morning on the first night of the party, when all of the other beer stores are closed. They wouldn't have any beer, anyway, since we bought it all for this one party - and goodness knows we would need a little beer for fortitude on our journey to get more beer, anyway.
And the great party that is Humanity dwindles away, one by one, and passes out. In shambles, beerless and dangerously sozzled, leaving only a few grassheads, insomniacs and the relatively crazy and/or sober to try to pick up the pieces.
I've already been to that party. It sucked, especially the morning after. No beer, no breakfast, no coffee and no smokes.
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