"End-game" is essentially planned obsolescence. There's only so many toys that your parents can give you before they run out of money. There's only so many rides on the theme park, and only so much time in the day to go on the rides. You can cry all you want, but you're never going to persuade the finitude of the human condition to cater to your demands.
Everything can be broken down into soul-sucking routines if you're pessimistic enough.
Hello. Here's Mr. 500-words-a-day, back at it again with another cool, insightful post about nothing of importance, coupled with an image of absolute irrelevance. I hope my 2 followers haven't completely abandoned me just yet.