The Thomas Fire, the largest of six in Southern California that have been blazing since early this week, is unignorable proof that we are indeed living in one of the shittiest branches of the multiverse.

According to Wikipedia, the popular crowdsourced reference site for information regarding our dark, pitiful corner of existence, the multiverse is a “hypothetical set of possible universes, including the universe which we live in.” That was the first line of the article. It went on to detail the intricacies of the theory, but this universe’s version of me is so lazy, I didn’t bother to read beyond the introduction.

Governor Jerry Brown, who has issued a state of emergency in Los Angeles, San Diego, Santa Barbara, and Ventura counties, formally acknowledged on Thursday how fucked we all are, metaphysically speaking. “I just phoned the White House, and had to ask that delusional, orange narcissist with a shitty body sitting in the Oval Office for firefighting funds. The fact that I had to ask Donald J. Trump for anything other than a shitty reality TV show pitch should be some indication of our current state of desperation. This state is burning to the ground. We’re definitely in the bottom tier of possible universes, and it’s making me depressed.”

Were we capable of putting all existent things on a graph with “stuff” on the x-axis, and “rating” on the y (which the alternate, way-better versions of ourselves in the other timelines can definitely do), the stuff we’re surrounded by would probably fall between four and five standard deviations below “mediocre,” at the middle. So this stuff is rated “bad.” This totally incorrect use of a normal distribution makes no sense because satire in this universe sucks, too. I had to google how to spell mediocre to write this stupid article, clear evidence that I stink, really bad.

Erwin Schrödinger, relic of a glorious timeline we were once on (but have since diverged from), said that the equations for which he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics implied that several different histories occur simultaneously. So somewhere, right now, an alternate version of you is drinking a fruity cocktail on a Polynesian island you own and named after yourself, instead of studying for three finals while ash literally falls from the sky like apocalyptic snow.

Epic disappointments seem to happen daily. We were forced to decide whether or not to regret laughing at every Louie C.K. joke about masturbation. Sexy police officer Halloween costumes are now doubly problematic. Steve Bannon exists.

For those unconvinced, I’m about to make, and you’re about to read, another fucking Trump joke. Here it fucking is: When the United States elected Trump in 2016, we were violently wrenched from the utopic direction we were headed in, and now we’re careening down a rabbit hole of utter chaos and shit. Nuclear war with North Korea is the light (or, actually, flash followed by a mushroom-shaped cloud) at the end of this god-awful, parallel tunnel: sweet oblivion. The United States, the world’s modern colonizer, commits suicide when a fat, orange hand hits a red button.

At least you’ll get a take-home final. Just remember, in another universe that you’re definitely not in, finals are canceled.