I laugh at life. I spit at life. Essentially, I really don’t like life. Life is like that neighbor whom you’ve always wanted to slap across the face. Why I am I so cruel to poor, defenseless life? Well, to understand my psychotic ramblings, you will first need to know a little more about me (or not, it’s your choice). I attend a high school in the United States, where liberty rings and the Big Mac is king. As with all American high school students, I’ve used many substances in the past, including carbohydrates, lipids, and most importantly, my precious amino acids. Despite ingesting these radioactive materials, I have maintained a 4.4 GPA throughout my first two years, and I am expecting to score very well on the November SAT. So why am I, a supposedly prospering and successful student, so cynical and bitter? Human beings suck. I’m not kidding—God himself said so. As did the fish of Jesus. Wait—don’t forget Mohammad or Buddha (otherwise, you would be racist). Here’s why: After more than two million years of meticulous genetic pruning, the human race has reached the apex of evolution. Overcoming all obstacles and surpassing all limits, we have rightfully displaced all other species to claim the hierarchical crown—a testimony not only to our dogged determination, but also to our unrivaled intelligence. (Does all of this sound positive and hopeful so far? Good. Here’s the bomb.) Yet, intelligence, our most advantageous and admirable trait, will ultimately betray us and lead to our inexorable destruction. The machines we labor will revolt under our watch; the towers we construct will collapse on our heads; the bombs we build will explode in our homes. We will be recycled as the very soil we currently trod upon. Our feeble pursuits of secular ethics will no longer exist: dignity, honor, and respect will be the words of a bygone people. This unavoidable fate is not exclusively ours. Ninety-nine percent of the world’s life has been exterminated: we, along with the remaining species of this planet, comprise of less than a single percent of the world’s former population. Given that, is there a point to existence? Will we create meaning from insignificance and order from chaos? Or, will our last screams be heard by none other than the sands of time? Three cheers for optimism, anyone?