If the world has pissed on your boerewors roll and your existence is a quagmire of self-loathing and bitterness, fear not, you poor victimized thing, your eternal relief from this twisted scrap-pile of a planet is right around the corner.
Chuck Palanhiuk, the author of Fight Club, most succinctly wrote, “On a long enough timeline. The survival rate for everyone drops to zero.” If that doesn’t warm your dark, misunderstood soul, then let me let me comfort you by saying that as a South African, the time frame is narrower than most.
South Africans need not depend on the swift mercy of a Mayan Apocalypse or global warming to frazzle our non-existent vegetable patches, no, our own brand of Euthanasia is self induced are far more readily accessible. You’re more likely to die of heart disease or other obesity related conditions than global catastrophe.
Take solace, my suicidal countrymen, if your nutritional consumption mirrors that of the average South African, your woes and suffering will soon be at an end. In fact, based on the figures published by the CIA World Factbook (2011) you can expect to live a mere 49.3 swift years.
I realize that these figures are skewed by such things as Aids and poverty, but these are not the people with problems here are they? No, my friend, you are.
GlaxoSmithKiline, one of those evil pharmaceutical companies intent on making money by convincing people that they should take drugs in order to be healthy (What’s that I hear you all squeal? Give us drugs to take away the pain not prolong it?), conducted a study showing that 61% of South Africans are overweight.
We jam food and drink down our gullets at a rate so impressive, you wouldn’t be able to top it if you liquidized it, stuck it in an IV bag and jammed the needle right into your throbbing jugular vein. Well done, you gorgeous gluttons you! Well done indeed! We certainly have the edge on the competition.
So feed, my pretty little piglets, feed! Gorge yourself on the sweet milk that your nurturing mother of junk food culture so lovingly provides and dull the numb ache of your existence.
Leave the earth to the happy wanderers content to smile through the hard times and look on the bright side of this rotting cesspool of an existence. Damn them! They don’t know how hard it is to be you. They don’t care about your nihilistic struggle.
But I do. I care. I am your friend.
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