After thoroughly freaking out the familial unit, Gregor manages to catch some shut-eye, and wakes up to a bowl of milk. That's right, he's been relegated to family pet. You know, the freakish arthropod pet you keep locked up in the bedroom because it scares the guests? That one. The only problem (aside from the bug thing) is that Gregor now doesn't like milk. Oh, no. Gregor needs rotting food. Every day, his sister creeps into the room to retrieve the dirty dishes and drop off a plate of compost. The family also notices that Gregor's movement is slightly inhibited by all the furniture lying around, and though his mother protests that Gregor might take this as a sign of hopelessness and despair of him ever improving, they clean out his room. Gregor, getting a little upset that his life is being removed right before his compound eyes, dashes off and clings to a picture he's particularly fond of, which freaks mom right the hell out. Dad comes in and starts pelting Gregor with apples, one of which pierces his exoskeleton and causes him excruciating pain.

The apple is never removed, causing Gregor to basically become a buggy invalid. Nobody cleans his room anymore, his sister stops checking to see if he ate his food, and his family takes in three lodgers to help pay the bills since Gregor isn't exactly bringing home a paycheck these days. These lodgers turn out to be assholes, and since the family really needs the cash, they allow it. The family eats in the kitchen while the lodgers eat in the parlor, for example. I know those of you who aren't as exceedingly wealthy as most supervillains may be unaware of the gravity of this situation, but trust me. Guests and lodgers do not eat in the parlor while the hosts eat in the kitchen. That's like giving the dog your king-sized four-poster while you go curl up on the back lawn.

Gregor's sister starts practicing her violin in the kitchen, and the lodgers invite her out into the parlor to perform for them. She obliges, but the asshole brigade gets bored pretty quickly while Gregor is deeply moved by his sister's performance. He creeps closer and closer to enjoy the beauty of his sister's music, but is eventually seen by the lodgers, who claim that having a giant insect crawling around is justification for not paying rent. Clearly, these lodgers have never lodged in New York City. Or Boston. Or Seattle. Or any city ever in the history of time. Pansies.

Gregor's family decides that the bug isn't really Gregor anymore, because if it was really Gregor, he'd stop hanging around the people he loves because he was making them uncomfortable with the whole being a bug thing. Gregor hears this, agrees, and scuttles back into his room to die with that damned apple still lodged in his shell. The maid finds his corpse the next day and wakes the family, who is soon harassed by the lodgers to quit crying about the big dead crunchy thing on the floor and make breakfast. The family finally grows a pair and kicks the lodgers out, then go on a family trip out to the countryside. They've put together enough money by this time to afford a new apartment together, and mom and dad start to think that it's time for their beautiful young daughter to get herself a husband.

Yeah, Gregor dies, and the family goes to the park to talk about whether the girl should find herself a man and start making babies. I know I'm evil and all, but that's just cold.

Kafka's body of work brilliantly encapsulates the futility of the human condition. It doesn't matter if you're transformed into a large invertebrate, life is pretty much just going to suck, and the people that you love are going to rid themselves of you at the first convenient opportunity. Life isn't even worth living.

Thank you for tuning in to this week's edition of Great Works in Evil Literature. I'm your hostess, Lady Unpleasantries, and I just want to remind you that your lives all amount to nothing. Life is designed to provide disappointment.

Have a good evening!