PPEcel
cope and seethe
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- Joined
- Oct 1, 2018
- Posts
- 29,088
I didn't realize at the time that it was a blackpill, because it didn't happen to me. It happened to a classmate. He wasn't particularly close, but he lived in the same hallway as I did for two years, so we were acquaintances. I'll call him Paul, though that's not his real name.
Paul and I went to the same boarding prep school in the Northeastern United States. I met him six years ago when I was 14, during freshman orientation. Paul was a low/mid-tier normie -- average height, 4/10 face, mid-tier frame. In all other aspects, he was just another upper-middle-class white kid from Connecticut.
Paul's cousins also went to our school: two 9/10 gigaStacy sisters. The younger Stacy was in our class and the other was a couple of years older; both of them were conventionally attractive blonde athletes. We found out Paul was their cousin because, on his social media, there was a picture of him yachting around Cape Cod and Nantucket with the two Stacies and the rest of his WASPy extended family.
Of course, he got teased for it. Since we were a bunch of horny 14- or 15-year-old high school freshmen, for an entire term or so, some kids would ask him questions along the lines of, "Hey, have you ever seen your cousins naked?" or "What's it like to hug your cousins?" And for a while, Paul was actually happy with these questions. Or he pretended to be. After all, he was just a kid in an unfamiliar environment, and desperate to prove himself socially, as we all were -- so any attention was better than none. Paul would nod and smile or laugh or reply with a joke.
It wasn't until a year later that a friend and I realized that Paul hated being the Stacy sisters' cousin -- the two of us eavesdropped on an angry conversation he was having with his faculty advisor. Turns out Paul felt constantly overshadowed by his two relatives; he wanted to be known as "Paul" and not just as "Stacy's cousin", but as it stood -- his entire social identity, as far as almost everyone was concerned, revolved around his Stacy cousins' orbit. Both Stacies were outgoing and popular; every now and then, one of the two would win some sports trophy. And, to be honest, they were genuinely nice people. Paul was just an average-looking normie of middling intelligence who liked to play CoD -- I think AW and BO3 were the games that were out at the time.
Anyhow, Paul's story did not end well. Near the end of our sophomore year, as I returned from the library to my dorm, I saw an ambulance parked right outside. He probably drank too much vodka that evening; how else could one explain the vomit-stained Vineyard Vines tie lying in the common room? I never saw Paul again. Every few months I'd ask the younger Stacy how he was doing; I wonder if she ever figured out that he very much envied her social standing. Last I heard, Paul's parents transferred him to a private day school so they could keep an eye on him.
I'm not sure why I thought about him today, but when I did, it tied in almost perfectly with my current knowledge of the brutal, ruthless, even vicious social organization that defines human interaction. I can't say that I feel too much sympathy for him; after all, he was a rich white normie and therefore mogged me, a bottom-tier ethnic, to oblivion. But now that I think about it, it must've sucked for everyone around him, his peers and teachers and family, to constantly compare him to his gigaStacy cousins, knowing that he would always fall short. For his identity to be essentially subsumed by theirs.
That feeling of social and genetic inferiority: it makes one feel small, insignificant, powerless -- subhuman. A feeling that is familiar to everyone here.
It's little memories like this that made me wish I had absorbed the blackpill earlier than I did. I think if I had stumbled upon this community earlier -- if I had the understanding to apply the blackpill to my own experiences, and if I was a little bit more cogent -- I could've even recruited a few of my fellow subhumans into joining us.
Paul and I went to the same boarding prep school in the Northeastern United States. I met him six years ago when I was 14, during freshman orientation. Paul was a low/mid-tier normie -- average height, 4/10 face, mid-tier frame. In all other aspects, he was just another upper-middle-class white kid from Connecticut.
Paul's cousins also went to our school: two 9/10 gigaStacy sisters. The younger Stacy was in our class and the other was a couple of years older; both of them were conventionally attractive blonde athletes. We found out Paul was their cousin because, on his social media, there was a picture of him yachting around Cape Cod and Nantucket with the two Stacies and the rest of his WASPy extended family.
Of course, he got teased for it. Since we were a bunch of horny 14- or 15-year-old high school freshmen, for an entire term or so, some kids would ask him questions along the lines of, "Hey, have you ever seen your cousins naked?" or "What's it like to hug your cousins?" And for a while, Paul was actually happy with these questions. Or he pretended to be. After all, he was just a kid in an unfamiliar environment, and desperate to prove himself socially, as we all were -- so any attention was better than none. Paul would nod and smile or laugh or reply with a joke.
It wasn't until a year later that a friend and I realized that Paul hated being the Stacy sisters' cousin -- the two of us eavesdropped on an angry conversation he was having with his faculty advisor. Turns out Paul felt constantly overshadowed by his two relatives; he wanted to be known as "Paul" and not just as "Stacy's cousin", but as it stood -- his entire social identity, as far as almost everyone was concerned, revolved around his Stacy cousins' orbit. Both Stacies were outgoing and popular; every now and then, one of the two would win some sports trophy. And, to be honest, they were genuinely nice people. Paul was just an average-looking normie of middling intelligence who liked to play CoD -- I think AW and BO3 were the games that were out at the time.
Anyhow, Paul's story did not end well. Near the end of our sophomore year, as I returned from the library to my dorm, I saw an ambulance parked right outside. He probably drank too much vodka that evening; how else could one explain the vomit-stained Vineyard Vines tie lying in the common room? I never saw Paul again. Every few months I'd ask the younger Stacy how he was doing; I wonder if she ever figured out that he very much envied her social standing. Last I heard, Paul's parents transferred him to a private day school so they could keep an eye on him.
I'm not sure why I thought about him today, but when I did, it tied in almost perfectly with my current knowledge of the brutal, ruthless, even vicious social organization that defines human interaction. I can't say that I feel too much sympathy for him; after all, he was a rich white normie and therefore mogged me, a bottom-tier ethnic, to oblivion. But now that I think about it, it must've sucked for everyone around him, his peers and teachers and family, to constantly compare him to his gigaStacy cousins, knowing that he would always fall short. For his identity to be essentially subsumed by theirs.
That feeling of social and genetic inferiority: it makes one feel small, insignificant, powerless -- subhuman. A feeling that is familiar to everyone here.
It's little memories like this that made me wish I had absorbed the blackpill earlier than I did. I think if I had stumbled upon this community earlier -- if I had the understanding to apply the blackpill to my own experiences, and if I was a little bit more cogent -- I could've even recruited a few of my fellow subhumans into joining us.
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