This Guy With a Boston Accent Realizes the Horror of Self-Awareness in the Face of Entropy

Oh my fackin’ gahd, bro, everything is gonna fackin’ die. Can you believe this, bro?

We’re all gonna die. Us, ma, Bin Laden, even fackin’ Brady. We’re born to die, Jerry. And not only that, bro, we’re gonna fackin’ see it comin. We undestand everything, bro. Gahd created us to see our own doom. I feel myself dyin’, bro.

Holy shit, bro, I don’t believe this. Have you thought about this before? Why didn’t nobody warn us? Did Father Pat say somethin’ when I was out of church?

Oh my fackin’ gahd, bro. Jerry, get the camera. Put the fackin’ camera on me. Maybe the pictures will outlive us, bro. Let’s try to set up something to last for a second, bro, and resist entropy. Dude, are you getting this? Holy shit, bro, it’s like time is this fackin’ monstah and it’s swallowing us up.

I seen Neil Degrassy Tysons talkin’ about black holes, bro. Not even light beams get away from them crazy fackin’ holes in space, bro. It’s like the drain in the shower, bro. Oh my gahd, it’s swirlin’ down the fackin’ drain, bro. We ain’t gettin’ away if light beams can’t, bro. Holy shit, bro, entropy is gonna win in the end. Cities are gonna crumble. It’s all meaningless, bro, is what I’m sayin’.

Jerry! Jerry, do you think we should call ma? I think we should fackin call ma, bro. Oh my gahd, I can’t fackin’ believe this, bro. Why were we even made, bro? It’s all gonna be cold rocks in the void. What’s the point, bro? Or what if that IS the point, bro? The point is the void, bro. Like nothing. Like space is the fackin’ point.

Or what if it’s the Matrix and we’re Neos, bro. Yeah. Let’s think about that for a second, bro. Jerry, get the camera on me. I think we should kill ourselves and jack out, bro. No! No wait, cuz when you die in the Matrix you die in the real fackin’ world bro. We gotta get to a payphone. We got to call fackin’ Morpheus, bro. Red Sox aren’t even going to the postseason, bro, let’s jack out. Follow the fackin’ white rabbit, dude.

I got it, bro. We’ll go up to fackin’ heaven, bro. We’ll escape time, but we gotta get a cahp to shoot us, bro. Let’s get some air guns, Jerry, and suicide by cahp. Then we can be up in heaven.

Unless, oh my fackin’ gahd, heaven is a construct of our fackin’ finite minds trying to contemplate the infinite. What if the very fackin’ structures of existence are so gahddam vast and terrible that to truly understand them is to grasp the meaninglessness of existence, bro.

Fackin’ hell, bro. We’re dyin’, bro. We are witnessing ourselves dyin’ a minute at a time, like Fight Clubs, bro. Like Project Mayhem. Jerry, what if you’re my fackin’ Tyler Durdens. What if we’re all Tyler Durdens? Maybe fackin’ existence isn’t real at all, bro.

I told you, Jerry, I don’t like that weed you get from Sam. No more weed, bro. It puts me in fackin’ dark moods, bro. I don’t need to be contemplating no void, bro.