There was a man son of a king founder of his own empire.
The man knew that roads followed precisely to their end lead precisely nowhere. He hated his brother so he planted a seed in the belly of this brother's daughter that it might grow to spurn its line. He told a river where the Gods had hidden its daughter in exchange for shortsale water shares. Hearing of these, and other misdeeds, the Gods sent death to collect his prize.
The man asked one thing before expiring; that he may take a closer look at death's rusted yoke. Unaware that drowning men clutch at straw death granted this final wish, demonstrating its function. The man, Slippy Hand Trick, ensnared death in his own chains.
Death so sequestered, the old and the ill became trapped in their suffering. The God of war was without pleasure as death could not collect men from battle.
Back with his family, the man feeling death close at hand, put his wife's love to a test. He made her vow that upon his passing she place his naked body in the town square, hoping devotion would break her promise.
She did as she was asked. The man, nudo in piazza, was unable to pass to the afterlife. Indignant, he begged the gods a brief return, that he might spurn his disloyal wife. After much c'mon, the gods consented. But he preferred the world of men, and fled the gods who granted his return.
The punishment for this, and all his trickery, was as follows:
Forever, until the end of time, he would push one giant stone to the top of a steep mountain, only to see it tumble with all its weight back to its starting place, whereupon he would make his own descent, and begin again, smiling tacitly, to push the weighty stone toward the mountain's peak.
All that to say, maybe, measure celebration at much liked selfies.