You disgust me. I relish to describe your disgustingness, but the English vocabulary has not progressed far enough to adequately form a word that might describe your demeanor. You are a virulent pest, a mite sucking the blood and soul of humanity. You’re as insignificant as a Martha Stewart TV special.
If your life was “It’s a Wonderful Life” by Frank Capra, then no one would miss you, and life would move on fine without you having every existed. You’re so infinitesimally unimportant, you’re like the second evolution of a Pokémon. No one even remembers your name.
You’re like the Cheerio’s a toddler spits out behind the TV stand. You’re a speck of dust on a planet so many light years away, modern telescopes would not be able to find your planet’s existence for at least 7 billion years, and even then, the scientists wouldn’t even care.
You’ve got as much Man in you inverse to the mass contained in a black hole. One day you’ll be as forgotten as your screeching garage band single you tried to sell to strangers at the Walmart parking lot.
You’re the fly that consumes the defecation of the human who works at America’s last Blockbuster.