99 problems and a corpse is the compensation.

Humans wear me out. They really do. I think I must have to eat you to even approach keeping up with you. That must be what it is. Ironic, divinely inspired punishment for all your hubris–Something has to eat you to even consider enduring you.

A few corpses a year. Just so that i can sit on the internet and be called transphobic, when I specifically say I have no pronouns or gender. A jury of peers every year, just so that I can stand in line at the dry cleaner without wanting to rip the head off the bungstump in front of me who tells the woman how to measure starch. A dozen or so, just so that i can drive through rush hour traffic and watch you slam on your brakes and create a standing wave of traffic jam, because you saw a cloud. 

What’s amusing is that those of you who know me and who sit here daily and talk with me are apologetic. Humanity knows its failings. So it tips me a few extra corpses a year, just to apologize for me having to sweep up beneath it when it leaves.

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