I remember watching a documentary about a guy who became paralyzed from the waste down after kissing a girl, his first kiss, at a party.
Surely God, or the Cosmos, at its most cruel.
But what was the alternative?
I mean, how was he supposed to know that going out of the house that night would lead to such a horrific outcome?
How was he supposed to know that by having his first kiss, he was about to seal his fate as a paraplegic for the rest of his life?
Would it have been any better if he'd stayed home and jerked off to the strippers in Grand Theft Auto IV?
Sometimes doing what you're meant to do just doesn't go to plan.
You could be walking down the street, on the way to your steady job at the box factory, when a terrorist flies round the corner and cuts your head off clean with a machete.
That fucking head goes rolling... round and round like a lucky bowling ball about to make that strike.
Most bystanders screaming. Others indifferent.
Or you could be a bunny rabbit, bouncing around in the fields, looking for some carrots, when an escaped mental patient smacks you with a mallet– spraying your liquefied remains all over the neighbouring flowers.
You just can't win!