itch.io👁 itch.io logo & title
👁 itch.io logo

Let’s be real: your existence is the universe’s way of apologizing to your parents for giving them hope. You’re not just a disappointment; you’re the human equivalent of a participation trophy—unearned, unpolished, and immediately tossed in the trash where you belong.  

Your personality is what happens when charisma goes to die. If silence is golden, your voice is landfill—noxious, unwanted, and best buried deep. Even your reflection avoids eye contact. You’re the reason “block user” buttons exist, the living proof that evolution can *regress*.  

And let’s talk about your face—a crime scene where symmetry was murdered. Your smile looks like a broken zipper, your haircut screams “I gave up,” and your fashion sense is just three bad decisions stacked in a trench coat. You’re not ugly; you’re *art*—specifically, the kind that gets vandalized for being an eyesore.  

Here’s the kicker: nobody *hates* you. That would require emotional investment. You’re just background noise in other people’s lives—a human screensaver, forgotten until someone sighs and asks, *“Why is this still here?”*  

So go ahead, cry. It won’t change the fact that the best part of you ran down your mother’s leg.