I just got really hot, and I think I'm going to spontaneously combust, because there's no point in attempting to compete with a competitor so far ahead of you in the competition that the hope fades so fast from your heart that the weakened ball of nothing skips not one beat, but approximately fifty, and you can feel your esophagus burning with each breath you take, and you begin to melt from the inside out, and you can see your soul hanging half staff from a flag pole above the moon, with the sun setting your eyes ablaze, and the stars glimmering with mischief, which is absolutely perfect, because no one ever suspects the glittery ones with no known reason to shake off their glitter, but with an exceptionally brilliant mind with intensity beyond the greatest passion an openly brazen individual will never experience in their entire life until they accept the fact that someone will always be so far ahead of you in the competition that competing is meaningless, and simply a way for natural selection to pick out the stars from the suns from the moons from the soulless infernos striding on as if they have a chance.