inferiority

the dung beetles march on the dung, surrounding it. drawn by its irresistable lure, they pick at it's flesh until nothing useful is left. there are a few futile moments, where they pick at it but the good stuff is gone. then it is time to go in search of more dung; later, with luck, they will find their way to another dropping a few tens of metres across the grass. if not, no matter, there is always more.

the humans crawl on the earth, surrounding it. they pick at it's flesh, tearing into it with their tools and sucking it dry. then the good stuff is gone and they scramble in futility to find more. they would go in search of another earth but they cannot find one or cannot reach it. adrift on their ravaged host, the parasites wither and die.

the beetles pick at their pungent carcasses. there will always be more dung.