I think that I got IQ-mogged on the bus, so now I have to bike to work.

Weaselface

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I got seated next to one of those freaks who talks to his fellow passengers, but I'm a bumbling incel. Initially I thought he was an alcoholic or some other reprobate, but he quickly redeemed himself as a normal individual. He impromptu guessed my occupation correctly—to which I said something daft—and he then began giving me advice on life and living. Soon it drifted to the weather, his weekend plans, and other inconsequential things. When I replied—stuttering and with genuinely convoluted, upside-down grammar—I saw that he had a very peculiar gaze; I reckon that he didn't care the slightest about the inane conversation, but that he was actually just interested in seeing how people reacted. It sounds trivial, but if I were human I wouldn't have let myself be played. That's something very fundamental.

I don't really know what to take from this. I hate myself. I bore myself. Shoot me. Why am I here?
 
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