The Terrible Truth:
Lying actually feels great, and while we're on the subject, I should probably point out that Keats was being sarcastic with his whole truth = beauty thing. Sorry I misled you there. That's the problem with English poets. They are dirty, lying pieces of shit.
"But wait," you say through your fake gold teeth (I picture you all as rappers from 2010), "I lied once, and after my friends found out, they were really sad. I felt awful!" That's because lying only gets you that extra boost of feel-goodery if you don't actually hurt anyone. Turns out we're pretty empathetic creatures: If our lies directly fuck someone over, we feel bad.
"Why did I tell him his mom died? That was just pointless and wrong."
This makes a ton of sense to me because (and this next part is just the speculation of an Internet comedy writer -- there's no science to back it up) we encounter a ton of absolutely pointless bullshit in our day-to-day lives. Lying to save time and effort on those arbitrary hurdles feels good, just knowing that we avoided the ensuing rage-headache. Yes, I read and understand the terms of service. No, I didn't blow through that asshole red light at 3 a.m. in totally nonexistent traffic.
All those general rules exist, in theory, for good reasons, but only about 99 percent of the time. When we're in that 1 percent and manage to tap dance our way around those rules without getting caught, we get to feel smarter than the people in charge. And you know who else tap dances his way around the rules without getting caught? Fucking Batman. In that moment, we are Batman.
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We could probably use a little work on the outfits, though.