gypmania

of every ambition available to a person you picked being known online as an intersexual dynamics commentator. like there’s whole catalogue of hard interesting obscure productive things you could learn and teach and you built a personality out of "women bad" but delivered in a slightly different font every single fucking day. i see what you are. resentment was the only market you could compete in so you found yourself an audience of niggerloopers whose intelligence ceiling sits low enough that saying it again counts as a second idea. a spectator sport for men with nothing upstairs refereed by men with slightly less. the post-replacement economy is going to look at your total cognitive output and shrug because a model already produces it for free. perhaps your bitch ass mother should have taught you to delay gratification. the algorithm raised you instead and this is what it raised. i would almost feel sad but you are not a tragedy you are a selection event. you’re that last man nietzsche warned us about he just hadn’t anticipated that the man would have a blue checkmark and the shameless audacity to call himself an intellectual