Now maybe you don't care if you hurt Being's feelings, but just remember: the universe has a long memory1 and doesn't like being told to go fuck itself, which is what you are doing whenever you try to lead a purpose-driven life.

How do I know?

Well, I was once a purpose-driven lifer.

When I was leading a purpose-driven life, my purpose was for each day to make things become exponentially more wrong. And thanks to the world, I was routinely successful at this without even trying.

But, fortunately, forever was only temporary.

So after my breakdown, I talked to Warren Buffet. He told me that my role as a role model was to set an example for the young. So the example I tried to set was one where you're always pushing your life to the edge of despair, and then, when you get there, all you can do is just sit back and hope for the 11th hour reprieve of massive success.

If it doesn't come, you can just kill yourself and be out of the way of everyone else who wants to follow the same path, and if it does come, you can strut around being an asshole for a few days, and THEN kill yourself.

Either way, everybody wins, so why not try it!

Especially because the team consisting of me and Warren Buffet wins too.

Because, with everybody else dead, we get all the toys. And all the change in everybody's pocket.

And, fortunately, all the satellites are on autopilot, so there'll still be plenty on cable and pay-per-view.

And with no demand, we'll rarely hit an empty gas station, as long as we don't go in circles.

For entertainment, because the worldwide wireless phone system will still work, except there's no payment, we can call random numbers in search of entertaining voice mail messages.

Then we'll gradually collect the best ones and edit them into a book. Then break into the deserted offices of Random House and publish it ourselves.

Then we'll drive to the nearest airport and fill up one of the planes they've got sitting around and fly it to Stockholm and break into the Nobel Prize depository, and then parachute out of drones into the Nobel Prize Auditorium wearing tuxes acquired earlier by prying open the door to George's Stockholm Tux Shoppe, and each receive the Nobel Prize in Literature for our recently published book of entertaining voice mail messages, as well as the Nobel Prizes for (while we're at it) Physics, Medicine, Peace and whatever else they have lying around (but not economics cause as everybody knows that's not a real Nobel Prize cause the economist dudes had to beg, bribe, bug and threaten the old Nobel Prize Committee dudes to give them a charity Nobel Prize so people would stop noticing how economics is an even more bogus load of utter fucking bullshit than even literature and peace).

Then we'll deliver our gracious Nobel Prize acceptance speech and in the last line we'll tie everything together and sum everything up as to the nature of Reality and we'll still be writing it as we're speaking it, and we unfortunately will have to go on writing it as we also unfortunately have to go on speaking it because, in the end, the line itself is realizing as it is being written that it can only sum everything up if it does it the old-fashioned way: by BEING everything -- one fucking femtosecond at a time, forever.

1. I mean, isn't the universe nothing more than the collection of everything that's ever happened2,3 -- which is also, by chance, the definition of perfect memory.

2. If anything ever really HAPPENS at all.

3. The universe also includes the collection of everything that WILL happen and IS happening, and as such is beyond the scope of this footnote4.

4. Footnote 1, that is.

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