Ah, whatever with the questions. I’m not taking the class; I don’t need to care about them.
I heard the stories.
Terrible stories about how I better work to become the biggest mac box of all. Because all the mac boxes that aren’t big enough to hold their own eventually meet a cruel demise in the hands of these gargantuan beings called humans, who come to rip out what’s inside us. Then, we enter a period of denial of what terrible fate fell upon us, and slowly resign to the fact that our final destination in life was to become a little mac box, not actually as meaty as we may have seemed before the prying open of our cardboard mouths.
Well, littler. I guess compared to those human things even us big and bigger mac boxes are little.
So I wanted to be special. I wanted to be bigger than big. I worked tirelessly, allotting myself only as much time to rest as would allow my beefy muscles to not irreversibly die. I didn’t just want to be a bigger mac box for you, I wanted to be a bigger mac box for me. And for my kind. The kind of the big mac box.
Then, one day, my goals in life completely realigned like the intestines of a creature that just consumed a member of my kin. A tremendously bearded figure approached me. He said his name was Richard Stallman and he was here to make me more free. He proceeded to toss me out the window.
In a sense, he was right. Outside, the world was so much more. Birds chirping, neon lights blaring, lack of anyone literally eviscerating me and consuming my entrails, and pundits claiming political candidates were literally eviscerated in a show segment. Probably figuratively literally. I felt so fresh. To this day, I am glad that unlike so many of my kind, I came to meet someone nice enough to spare my bowels and allow me to contribute to the pollutional enbaddenning of a planet filled with people who don’t. Maybe it is enough to be free, even if I am not the Biggest.