See, most people don’t get it—I’m not like them. They enjoy socializing with their peers, co-workers, and fellow hobbyists. Me? I’m an introvert, which I’ll now discuss for as long as you keep standing here.
I know it seems weird that I’m approaching you, unprompted, to discuss my introversion. People make me extremely uncomfortable and every time I speak with a stranger, I step outside my small comfort zone. But I must, for no one truly understands the introvert. That needs to change, and that change will begin with an uninvited three-hour conversation.
Two among us got lifelong partners and everyone else got nothing, according to my mentality in which all socializing is a zero-sum game.
Maybe “conversation” isn’t the right term. More like an uninterruptible monologue.
Introverts can only handle a limited amount of social stimulation, unlike most people, who constantly crave it no matter what. It is difficult navigating a society where talking with other humans is the norm. For example, the other day someone held a door open for me and actually expected me to say “thank you” in return. Excuse me, you’re a COMPLETE stranger and I didn’t ask you to hold open that door.
Sadly, that an extrovert would force such social niceties upon me is commonplace in a world where my kind is simply not understood.
The other day I attended a wedding, a primitive mating ritual in which the couple’s friends, family, and former lovers gather to recognize their union and watch them do everything BUT consummate it. What a pointless, convoluted affair. What’s worse is that the other guests seemed to enjoy themselves, which shocked me. Two among us got lifelong partners and everyone else got nothing, according to my mentality in which all socializing is a zero-sum game—you know, like a sociopath believes.
I only went because my cousin Greg was the groom and I had a huge crush on him growing up. I couldn’t wait to experience the emotion they call “bittersweet,” where you half enjoy something and half want to destroy it, according to my estimations. Only the “bitter” part resonated because I can’t feel joy for anyone else’s success.
Have I mentioned my favorite book is Atlas Shrugged?
As you might imagine, my introverted nature also makes dating challenging. A low-stakes opportunity to become acquainted with my potential spouse and co-parent? I’m not a fuckin’ nerd. Instead, I typically “stalk” my “prey” for a few hours before “pouncing,” like the sexy, sleek panthers I’ve seen on Animal Planet: I approach the target, scream my name and astrological sign in their face, and then grab their iPhone so I can enter my contact information.
This method failed spectacularly until someone pointed out that it resembled a mugging. Here I am, doing my best to adapt to an extroversion-centric world, and what do I get for my efforts? Naught, plus two restraining orders. The upside is that I’ve discovered a latent affinity for bestiality, an activity that requires zero people—just the way I like it.
If you haven’t put it together by now: I hate people and that’s my whole personality. If you have a problem with it, why don’t you go hang out with your friends or make a new one? Gross.
I’ll be over here, pleasuring myself to panther porn, safely insulated from human contact.