Sometimes, while standing amid an encompassing barrage of loud, mindless, shamelessly self-important Americans talking ceaselessly yet saying nothing of value, I’m suddenly struck with the notion that, as a whole, we are nothing more than a pesky swarm of cosmic toilet bugs whose temporary position at the top of the food chain on an infinitesimal ball of dirt hurtling through endless space, has tricked us into falsely believing that – as the great Carl Sagan alluded to – we have some privileged position in the universe. We gorge until our innards swell with fat and disease. We complain about the woefully insignificant. We preoccupy ourselves with trivial pursuits. We chatter about the laughably inane. We wander aimlessly while neglecting to address life’s most pressing questions. We revel in hubris. We soften our bodies and dull our minds. We embrace the mundane. We argue over the ridiculous. We rant about the meaningless. We obsess over how exponentially worse things are becoming by virtue of our misguided behaviors. Then, in the same breath, we sit on our sizable asses and speculate about what MUST be done, at some future point, if humanity is to be saved. We think we’re important. We think we matter. We think that a greater power is closely watching over each and every one of us; a greater power that ultimately has our best interests in mind, regardless of how fat, stupid, arrogant, delusional, and (self-)destructive we become. Think again.