Oh, Misery Is So Beautiful

So this is what heaven is initially perceived as: this magical plane where one is granted eternal happiness, in exchange for the time served on earth carrying out model citizen duties. Behind the proverbial pearly gates is where angels will suck your dick for hours, while J.C.—at the right hand of God, the big man you've been slaving your entire mortal life to meet - shoots you a thumbs-up and a smile when you blow your load. And that's it right there. The golden finish line, the cherry on top of the sundae, and the standing ovation for the life you've made for yourself.
But as dedicated the hopefuls are to standing by this, as grand as they've all built it to be, and as tempting it all has been to eat it all up, it's bullshit; it has to be. The great landscape caressed by immortality is only a lie packaged in a box of propaganda, finished off with an illusionary, bright red ribbon.
What we’re really looking forward to…what this promise really grants…is an eternity twiddling our thumbs and enjoying the scenery.

If heaven truly existed, and was obtainable to those who fulfilled its requirements, then what lies ahead is no better than the lives we struggle with down here on Earth. Heaven, how I see it, is but a promise of a life with no purpose, no cause or meaning. There is nothing to work for, anything to strive for, nor work towards. Although that is the big prize – living worry free and not burdened with obligations – there is absolutely no stimulation. What makes life worth living is the human mechanic and downfall of never being able to be truly content--even if we aspire for the unobtainable, it gives us reason to wake up; to breathe. We bitch and we moan about how difficult life is, but if that struggle were taken away - if we were granted the key to “heaven”, or something like it - we’d only last a small breath, a tiny whisper before craving those very afflictions we detested.

So this, right here - our miserable, disgusting lives - is as good as it gets. We should all be thankful for the wondrous filth we’ve made ourselves to sleep in every night. We should give praise to the rapists, murderers, racists and terrorists for making life such a grand fucking adventure. A toast to all the moguls, high-society aristocrats, and celebrities for keeping that impossible wall for us to constantly climb, struggling with bleeding knuckles and cracked ribs. In the end, it all unknowingly plasters a grin on our faces that heaven could never match—because misery is so fucking beautiful.

So this is it.
Your heaven and your hell.
You can go ahead and call your mid-life crisis your limbo.
Your "God" might as well be that step-dad that put his hands down your pants when you were a kid.
There is no gold watch, necktie and farewell handshake.
Eat your shit with a smile, because eternal life is the toy in the happy meal that the Mexican kid stole from you.