Sometimes, you wake up and think, what's the point? Today was one of those days, and then I read about a guy from 1970 Massachusetts who tried to steal art and botched it. His failure made me chuckle—a reminder that my life could be worse; I could be him.
Let me paint the picture: some average Joe, let's call him Bob Artless, decides one fine, probably overcast day (because let's face it, all existential crisis days are overcast) that he’s tired of his mundane existence. So, he does what any sensible person smothered by the absurdity of life would do—he attempts to steal a painting. Not just any scribble, but real, pricey art.
Bob's plan was as shaky as my will to live. From what I gathered, he understood art theft about as well as I understand why any of us are even here. The story goes: he walked into the gallery, grabbed the painting, and just... walked out. No finesse, no grand plan. When life's this meaningless, who needs a strategy?
So he gets caught—because, of course, he does—and here's where it gets beautifully ironic. His life, now a bona fide mess, is probably more interesting than before. Jail time, court dates, a story to tell if he's ever at a dismal party and needs to make small talk.
You know, sometimes I think about ending it all, but then I read stories like Bob's and think, maybe life's just one big, bad, dark joke and I might as well stick around for the punchline. That punchline? Dying alone, probably mid-chuckle at another failed existential thief's tale.
Based on the original article "7 New Movies Our Critics Are Talking About This Week".
