Love to become the world’s richest man, use my money to buy the world’s most annoying social media site, then drive myself insane tinkering with it to feed my ego.

Alternatively, I can be rolling in Facebook money and still feel so insecure that I need to jack myself up with steroids and do Fight Club shit as I settle into middle age

Better yet, maybe I get into snake oil remedies for aging and start paying people to drink their blood. Or perhaps I try and beat cancer with grapefruit enemas and die in agony because I’ve convinced myself I’m smarter than the nation’s leading oncologists.

Even the astronomically wealthy seem incapable of happiness.