Phil was crossing a field of grass on one variation of the planet Earth.
On the ground lay a grasshopper. It was covered in ants and it was writhing in a last ditch effort to escape the biting mayhem.
Phil paused and beheld the suffering grasshopper and the serious, diligent ants.
“My friend, if it were not for soul-wrenching suffering life would be so, so boring! If we had not such destructive agony, why even get out of bed? Comfort is such a banal torture of intoxication.”
Phil walked on pondering the next time he would be eaten by ants, and in what lifetime as well and how they would wrench away any sense of self-control and freedom he would have in said lifetime, in said timeline, in said universe, in said multiverse.
He paused after facing it as much as he could imagine.
Phil walked over to the grasshopper-ant feeding frenzy and stomped his foot on the lot of it ending the suffering of his vegan friend.
“Illegitimi non carborundum grasshopper.”