I've been thinking, in the long we hours of the night. Why must we toil upon the plane. Why must we exist for only the moments that satisfy chemical reactions of joy or dissatisfaction. No, I exist to slam loads of pizza rolls.

The systematic deconstruction of which life and death decorporializes the necessary pathways into the soul and consciousness is profound, but not as profound as this dank ass pizza roll I had last week.

I've come to realize that life hates itself. But hey, I've pizza rolls, and I feel better bout walking up after that.