You hear a lot more about mental health and anxiety than you used to. And that’s basically a bad thing. Not the admitting one has mental health or anxiety issues. But rather telling the rest of us about it. What can I do for you? I have my own problems. When I was younger, they were even worse. You know what I did? I drank way more.

Of course, that only exacerbated the problems. Then again, no one ever had to hear me droning on about all the sadness in my life. Again, telling someone about these issues isn’t wrong or bad. It is just that the person you tell should be a licensed therapist. Keep in mind that they actually get paid to hear people’s problems. They get paid because listening to other people’s problems all day sucks.

The reason I bring all of this up is to make sure you stay off my lawn. But I do have a mental health issue to discuss. No, it isn’t mine. Well, maybe, but this isn’t about me. This is about other people I want to criticize. America, love it or leave it.

Anyway, there’s this mental health problem known as Main Character Syndrome. Main character syndrome is when somebody presents, or imagines, themself as the lead in a sort of fictional version of their life. Shockingly, social media makes it easier for people to fall into this mental health trap. Stop taking that selfie!!

It’s everywhere.

But why, you say? Assuming you exist.

The reason for the prevalence of this issue is completely obvious. It is because we are certainly living in a simulation. As noted in an earlier screed, a lot of people (even scientists) think it is likely that our entire existence is a simulation. Like Super Mario Brothers, without the annoying music. And somewhere in the universe, or perhaps in another universe, are a bunch of nerdy, technologically superior Strombolis pulling all of our strings. Dance, little humans, dance.

But it seems some of you are on to these guys and I say good for you.

Perhaps our simulation masters are only people from the future or alien beings (which, we know from our last meeting, are all around us). They sit in their extra dimension, with their highly sophisticated joysticks, laughing uproariously as they make people like Donald Trump leader of the free world.

“Wait, wait,” Zelgort says, wiping the tears from his extraterrestrial eyes. “Let’s make The Apprentice guy the President of the United States. Hahahahah.”

“What?” Mimforading replies. “Don’t do that. That will ruin the game.”

“Too late,” says Zelgort. “It is done. Boooom!!!” Master Zelgort dissolves into laughter.

“Hey,” says Mimforading a little later (though later has no meaning to beings living outside of time– What can I say? We are limited characters.) “That Muffet’s Orange guy is on to us.”

“Impossible. He has a focus rating of seven and an intelligence rating of 6.5. He can’t even do basic calculus. Idiot.”

“Look at what he is writing.”

And that Margie Greene woman. Boy, she is something else. Jewish space lasers.

That last part was to get them momentarily off the track. Perhaps their intelligence rating isn’t as high as they think it is. Of course, they can always just give me a brain hemorrhage or strike me down with a lightning bolt for my insolence. Doo Dooo Dooo Dooo. My character’s life force is running out. The Muffet Orange needs food badly.

If you read about ancient history as I do, you will understand that people have always wondered about their place in the universe. Where else would gods come from? Not West Virginia. Just coal and discarded teeth as far as the eyes can see. The eyes in the hills.

Perhaps you noticed my focus meandering. Zelgort, no doubt. All hail Zelgort, giver of life!

Happy now? Maybe you can put one of the Kardashians in office next? Or Joe Rogan. Instead of taking a civics test, immigrants can eat horse intestines to gain entry into the country.

“Fear is not a factor for you! Welcome to the USA!”

The point of this whole thing is to not worry about anything you do. Powerful beings with made-up names are orchestrating your every move.

If only I could think of a way to make some money off this. Maybe if those Doctor Who-like bastards would dial me up a little. Tardis traveling SOB’s.

Forget it. I’m not groveling.

“We told you not to grovel.”

I really hope those tin can Wizard of Oz knock-off guys get their revenge.

“The Daleks?” Apparently, all my thoughts are known to the Tardites. Consider Tardites Trademarked!

“Yeah. The Daleks.”

“We told you to say that, too.”

“Did you also create Steely Dan? Because I hate Steely Dan.”

“No. That was our buddy.”

“You have a friend? What’s his name?”

“Todd.”