Whereas you are just a Black Hole of hopelessness, awash in the stink of your unending, formless  fear.  Wearing blinders, deliberately imprisoned by your arrogant, dark ideology, devoid of life and defined forever by the absence of any sense humor whatsoever, you are lost in a dystopian swamp of despair, body contorted into a grotesque, diseased statement of nililism, as you strain unsuccessfully to pull your head out of your ass.  Come up for air, Jacobson. Or not. I couldn't care less.