The human animal is not designed to be content. Are you content? No. Of course not. Unless, of course, you're a very computer-literate dog that has somehow managed to sign up with an internet access provider. Dogs are generally content because they're stupid, and they can lick themselves. If I could lick myself, I'd be set. Unfortunately, I haven't been blessed with the dexterity or the required length of tongue. So I, like the rest of you, wallow in misery and pain, waiting for something or someone to come along and make the world a wonderful, beautiful place where I am adored by all and am able to spend the better part of my day exacting revenge on those who irritate me.
Of course, deep down inside, we all know that this will never happen, which makes it all the more difficult to continue on, to suffer through an unending string of days waiting to die. You will never be famous. You will never have as much money as you want. If you do manage to find someone willing to mate with you, there will always be a nagging feeling at the back of your mind that he or she is either A) not quite attractive enough or B) about to dump you for someone who doesn't smell quite as badly as you do.
Now, you're either wildly nodding your head in agreement by this point, or you're saying, "Jon, why so pessimistic? The world is a wonderful place." In a sense, this is true. There's a lot of extra-groovy stuff out there. If you ever get a chance, take a trip to Arizona. Go out into the desert. You will feel young as when the world was new. There are some other cool places, too, but this readme is supposed to be depressing and nihilistic, so let's try to stay on track here.
Unfortunately, there are a couple of things working against you, things that make the world suck regardless of how many cacti you meditate with. One of these things is all those people. You know them, the ones singing "Brown Eyed Girl" in a drunken stupor at the bar, harmonizing with all the ability and talent of The Chipmunks, distracting you from your task of forgetting the day. It's almost impossible to be content with your own life when people around you seem so goddamn happy for no apparent reason. "What the hell are they so happy about?" you ask, but they keep on singing, screwing up the lyrics and fondling the girls with the half-shirts and the big hair and the bellybutton rings. It's as if they had some secret that you weren't let in on. It's not that big a secret; they're stupid and they'll most likely go home with someone who will lick them. These are the same people that ruin all the groovy deserts with their "but it's dry heat" comments.
Of course, this is a minor annoyance in comparison to the real reason you will never be content.
You are genetically designed to be miserable.
Sound strange? Think about it. Evolution favors animals that reproduce the most. Now, outright horniness is a great motivational factor to mate, but in the end, no one is going to mix gametes with you just 'cause you have a stiffie. Potential partners want to see the goods, they want to see you achieve, they want to see you make lots of cash and score touchdowns and buy them big houses and make them have multiple orgasms. So you're going to have to achieve a lot more than an erection before your genes are gonna be selected.
The greatest motivational force for achievement in our society is our lack of contentedness. If you're bored, or upset, or generally not happy with your quality of life, you're more likely to try and make something of yourself. People who make an effort tend to achieve more, and thus mate more often and more successfully, and thus their genes are selected for.
In a nutshell, people with a genetic predisposition toward being unhappy are more successful, evolutionarily speaking. Which is why, after millions of years of evolution, there are no content people anymore.
You need proof? Look at Prozac. A simple little drug that makes people happy, counteracting their natural, genetic tendencies to be miserable. The side effects? Decreased sexual appetite. You do the math. God is laughing at you right now. It's a fantastic practical joke.
Now, I'm not saying that there's a way to fight against this evolutionary trend; you're stuck being miserable until you die. Your life will suck; it's better to just accept it and move on. You can't fight your genes.
You can, however, make their lives just as miserable as they've made yours. Sit on a couch. Numb your brain with television and beer. Quit your job. Never date, never mate. Make your genes regret the day they ever tried to make you reproduce.
Have a nice day.
-jonathan rosenberg, cartoonist extraordinaire
november 11, 1997