But, how intelligent is a person if they can't be happy?
Oh Christ. Now he's going to start writing a novel in this thread about how happiness is an unobtainable illusion (which is true, but such a kindergarten lesson that it doesn't even need mentioning).
Atlas, there is no point to life. Life is boring, and we will all die. It is our job to make life interesting for ourselves. You make your life into an adventure, which I've always respected, but you don't seem to actually provide any value, produce anything, or help anyone, which means you're about as useful (less useful actually) than a cow or a deer I might hit with my car.
You have the nerve to ask why I might attack you, but you haven't realized that you're about as important in my life as a rabid dog who may or may not know how to do some tricks (philosophy).
When you're the dog saving my life, fetching my water, my slippers, my newspaper, waking me up in the morning so I won't be late, rescuing me, warning me of danger, etc, then I might be inclined to consider you worth the effort of trying to get inside your fucked up head and assisting you in fixing yourself (don't give me this "I don't need anyone's help" 12 year old tantrum bullshit, we all need help unless you're planning on being a unibomber, in which case hurry the fuck up please it's getting old).
Bottom line Atlas, you provide less value to me directly than a dog and demand the respect of a king. Go fuck yourself, and then ask yourself why you like it.
Next time a dog is barking at you, tripping you, generally bothering you while you are doing something or even biting you, record yourself getting into a dialogue with it, because I don't believe you would. You'd react the way I react to you, doing anything you can on impulse to get the dumb animal out of your path.