Our problems used to be a lot more honest. We used to deal mainly with sabre toothed tigers and which leaves didn’t hurt when we wiped our asses. Now we deal with with how to excel, how to make people like us, how to cope with our handicapped coworkers. Stories can be adapted to this kind of stuff, but it is an adaptation, it is a secondary, unnatural thing. The stories in our minds are about birth and death and the big, bloody mess that comes between. They’re about killing our fathers and fucking our mothers. They’re about when to fight and when to run and when to atone with the invisible thing that makes lightning.