While many may joke over the exaggeration portrayed here, there is no denying the truth layered upon it. Many try and seek meaning out of that that is meaningless. They try and find answers to their own problems through the medium of art and literature, rather than simply answering the questions of their own life themselves.
It is impossible to not make the connection here to that of religion, where by the vast majority of the worlds population - once easily excusable for one to round-up to all - addholds to a religion in some form, seeking answers through a third party, as opposed to their own heart.
I am reminded here to a episode of the 1997 television show 'Southern Recreational Land', dating to the long lost year of 2010, entitled: 'The Tale of Scrotie McBoogerballs', in which a book is written with the simple purpose to only sheepishly amuse, and proceeds to be taken and inspected beyond it's permittable amount by the population at-large. The episode then proceeds to shares a moral much the same as what I have expressed in this here essay.
That episode leads me to ask the question in-which I shall conclude with: Anyone else kinda wanna fuck Butters? Like when he's an adult I guess like in the Post-Covid-Special, but like I feel like you could manipulate him into some shit like it probs wouldn't be too hard.