Myself

skittles

At what point do you form the opinion that life is so fucking bad that the best option, from the totality of your available options, is to spend a great sum of money to place yourself and your family on a rickety, piece-of-shit, over-capacity raft with five hundred other people who have also reached this same mind-numbing conclusion, to then be pushed off from beach, solid land, “home,” toward a gaping stretch of unforgiving, unrelenting, unpredictable sea, in the faint flicker of hope that life will be a bit better in a new place where people are waiting with closed hands and crossed arms, afraid, hateful, doing everything in their power to make it clear that you are not welcome, that you do not belong, and that you should take that fucking thing off your head so you can fit in with the rest of bikinied, civilized society?

Yeah, I don’t have any idea either. Must be pretty fucking bad.

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