/lit/ - Literature

imagine being a sad obsessive overly-sensitive autistic man and you get hired by a normie public-interest food and travel magazine to write a nice little essay about the lobster festival in maineryland

and you're such a broke-ass sad-ass anime-watching autist that you actually go to this festival only to identify and sympathize more with the stupid beady-eyed lobsters than any of the living breathing human beings there

and you write three thousand words about the absolute inhumanity of the fat blubbery glassy eyed throngs and nobody who works at GOURMATE MAGAZINE is awake at the wheel enough to even notice what you've done

in fact nobody ever notices what you've done, or even cares, and so you just keep writing five million more words until you produce a brick fat enough to block your exhaust pipe so you can finally leisure in that eternal slumber

and once you're finally good and dead so you don't have to think about how nobody will ever consider the lobster, some big-titted small-glasses wearing new york times book review editor takes note of the big smelly overly-empathetic tragedy that your life comports, and you finally earn the recognition you'd been yearning for your whole life long

but it still doesn't matter, because still nobody fucking gives a shit about lobsters