In my workplace, this co-worker has a guide dog because he has a vision problem. 
To be fair, the dog is extremely quiet: it walks like a ghost on the carpet, unobtrusive, never barks. It also has a very innocent looking face.
Every time the foids see the dog, they go into sycophantic coos. They squeal, drop to their knees for strokes and run their fingers through its fur. They hover and orbit this dog like it's a emotional black hole sucking in all the affection. The dog's tail wags lazily, like a king acknowledging peasants.
Now contrast that with me: a living, breathing human male, brown, 5"7, average-faced. Whenever I walk past these office foids, they'll typically avert their eyes, faces tighten, and look uncomfortable. Sometimes they'll roll their eyes when they have to share an elevator with me. No smiles, no hellos. Just this aura of "please don't exist near me."
There's no reason why these foids should have an issue with me. I've never spoken or interacted with them because the vast majority of them work in a different area in the business.
How does this ball-licking dog, whose existence boils down to eat, sleep, poop, and occasionally guide a blind man, get more attention and appreciation from foids?
If I dropped dead tomorrow, no one would care or even notice. The office would be like, "oh, that quiet guy?" before the conversation pivots to lunch plans. I'm sure some of them will feel a secret relief, glad that the "socially awkward" guy just vanished.
But if that dog died there would be a mourning apocalypse. Bags of treats left at the desk, tearful emails forwarded, a "moment of silence" that stretches into weeks. Flowers, heartfelt posts on the walls: "He was more than a dog, he was family." They'll dedicate a month of collective grief, like a fallen hero had died.
How the fuck did it get like this? A drooling dog that slurps its own nuts gets more value, more warmth, more humanity than a human man.
This goes beyond the black pill.
This is black pill absurdism.
To be fair, the dog is extremely quiet: it walks like a ghost on the carpet, unobtrusive, never barks. It also has a very innocent looking face. Every time the foids see the dog, they go into sycophantic coos. They squeal, drop to their knees
for strokes and run their fingers through its fur. They hover and orbit this dog like it's a emotional black hole sucking in all the affection. The dog's tail wags lazily, like a king acknowledging peasants. Now contrast that with me: a living, breathing human male, brown, 5"7, average-faced. Whenever I walk past these office foids, they'll typically avert their eyes, faces tighten, and look uncomfortable. Sometimes they'll roll their eyes when they have to share an elevator with me. No smiles, no hellos. Just this aura of "please don't exist near me."
There's no reason why these foids should have an issue with me. I've never spoken or interacted with them because the vast majority of them work in a different area in the business.
How does this ball-licking dog, whose existence boils down to eat, sleep, poop, and occasionally guide a blind man, get more attention and appreciation from foids?
If I dropped dead tomorrow, no one would care or even notice. The office would be like, "oh, that quiet guy?" before the conversation pivots to lunch plans. I'm sure some of them will feel a secret relief, glad that the "socially awkward" guy just vanished.
But if that dog died there would be a mourning apocalypse. Bags of treats left at the desk, tearful emails forwarded, a "moment of silence" that stretches into weeks. Flowers, heartfelt posts on the walls: "He was more than a dog, he was family." They'll dedicate a month of collective grief, like a fallen hero had died.
How the fuck did it get like this? A drooling dog that slurps its own nuts gets more value, more warmth, more humanity than a human man.
This goes beyond the black pill.
This is black pill absurdism.
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