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Wake up, Pack Mule Jake, you sound like a therapy dog that bit itself.

Oh, boo-fuckin’-hoo, your life’s heavy.
Guess what, genius — if life feels light, it’s because you’re in a coma.
You’re bitching about carrying too much like you stumbled into it by accident.
Newsflash, dipshit: you loaded the goddamn wagon.

You want a pep talk?
Here it is:
Nobody’s coming, nobody cares, and gravity wins.

You think the old-timers who built this broken shithole of a country sat around crying about how “hard” it was?
Hell no.
They worked until their spines crumbled like old breadsticks and then died coughing into a handkerchief someone else couldn’t afford to wash.

You wanna be tougher?
Here’s how you do it, Jake:
You shut the fuck up, pick up the next brick, and keep stacking until your bones make a sound nobody’s heard before.
You don’t get applause.
You don’t get a parade.
You don’t even get respect half the time.
You get a slightly better view of the shithole from higher up the mountain you built by hand.

And let’s get something straight, Mr. Sensitive Shoulders —
You don’t “grind through it some days” and “pretend other days.”
You pretend every day.
You smile when you’re dead inside.
You laugh when your soul’s got duct tape on it.
You give the world the middle finger by just waking up again.

You want real advice?
Next time it feels heavy, throw another sandbag on top just to spite it.
Start laughing while it crushes you.
Make life nervous for once.

That’s how you carry the weight, Jake.
You make it wonder what the fuck it’s dealing with.

Now get off my brain,
Pops