You look into the mirror and an unfamiliar face stares back at you. Bloodshot eyes. Greasy, unkempt hair. A bit of dried drool sits on your lower lip. You’re not entirely sure what day it is, though you’re not sure it even matters. Sleep seems like a long-forgotten dream now. All you can think of is the Hobbesian state. You fear a life that is nasty, brutish, and short, so you give away your liberty to the Leviathan, all for a little safety. Sure, he can take away everything, but at least you aren’t getting torn apart in the wild. Look at yourself, though. You’re a mess. A slob. A broken soul slouching along in a decaying body. Maybe Nietzsche was right about liberalism. You’re the last man. The Übermensch never came. The slave morality has crushed your soul and all you desire is a little comfort. You sigh and leave the bathroom. It’s comps week. It’s the Friday Ketchup.