Superficiality clings to you like a bad smell. You eat and breathe narcissism, you bathe in blatant flattery. Your world is a material one, devoid of any mystery. You accept comfortable thoughts and philosophies in exchange for the loss of free-thought, you take blind acceptance in exchange for inquiry. You take for granted the fact that you are special, regardless of your conformity. You float through life in a bubble of pleasant thoughts and shallow aspirations. You pacify yourself with the ability to ignore your insignificance, and embrace the plain, mundane vices of modern society. You complete the tasks given to you with just enough competence, and with a disgusting acceptance; you never ask “why?” or “how?”, you only ask “when?”.
You are much happier than me, and I hate you.