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The Unhappy Man

Who wasn’t very happy.

Photo by Fikri Rasyid

I know a man who loves to complain.
He complains about his job.
He complains about his family.
He complains about other people.
He complains about politics.
He complains about the weather.
He complains about everything.

When he is not complaining, he is critical. 
He is critical of his boss.
He is critical of his local sports team.
He is critical of every place he eats.
He is critical of every movie he sees. 
Nothing is quite good enough for him.

And he loves to tell people they are wrong.
Correcting other people brings him great joy. 
But, probably, his favorite thing is to tell people that their opinions are stupid.

In his spare time, he writes a blog full of negative and critical stories.

I have concluded that he is only happy when he is miserable.

One day everything was going his way. 
His children had given him an all-expense-paid trip to his favorite vacation spot. 
His political party won the election.
He got a big raise at work. 
His favorite band put out a new album and it was great.
He found his favorite pocketknife that he had lost a year ago.

He had nothing to complain about.

I saw him and asked him what was new. 
He said, “Nothing.”
He looked so sad. 
I could tell there was nothing bad going on in his life. 
So I punched him the stomach.