is there a word for the emotion this show makes me feel? the one that makes me want to turn it off and claw my own face off?
It's called "feel".
You're called /v/.
Its called 'The Office' effect.
I know it as the "Curb Your Enthusiasm" effect.
I just call it cringe comedy.
Only faggots who can't take a step back and realize what their watching react in such a way to this show. If you really are this much a neet then I'm sad to tell you this but this show is the truth of things really.
That feel is called fremdscham, feel free to borrow this word, Anglos
I just know it as the 'fucking hold the camera still you shitheads!' effect.
It's called compassion.
As in, you feel compassion for how retarded one can be.
I am no neet, but I do see quite a bit of myself in the show.
It makes me sad.
So you're a wannabe popular casual too?
Great for you...yeah, not really.
give her red hair
now it becomes a biography.
hits too close to home, cant watch/read manga.
No, I'm just a lonely son of a bitch who isn't outgoing in the slightest.
Out of fuckload of characters that resemble you more, you get emotional over a character that doesn't?
"cringe" is not an emotion.
I enjoyed the shit out of this show, shit was hilarious
If you were actually this autistic in high school and are bothered by it that's pretty fucking pathetic
My best friend was. He would always use passive/aggressive tenancies to try to get me to talk to people or order food for him.
Also, just say shy or introvert. People really need to stop using therm 'autistic' for everything.
Only that what you described isn't shy nor introvert. It's pretty fucking autistic.
I was under the impression that most people here just wanted to be left alone to enjoy their hobbies/NEETbux in peace and had no desire to be popular or put themselves on a pedestal above others. Then I saw all the posts about how much everyone could "identify" with her and I started to feel sick. It wasn't a comedy anymore. It was a horrifying reflection of reality. The idea that these people who I enjoyed talking about anime with so much were subhuman "normal wannabes" who craved popularity and did everything in their power to fit in. The kind of people who would act like the slimiest most untrustworthy pieces of shit in a futile attempt to gain the acceptance of their peers. It made me really appreciate that this was an anonymous community and I wouldn't have to risk a life sentence for murder.
I didn't say my life was over due to Watamote.
Its just when I relate to something she does, it swiftly becomes "Jesus fuck what is wrong with me?"
You need to actually research what autism is (which I know you haven't and won't do after this post). But simply being anti-social or introvert is not being 'autistic'. There's many other factors to being autistic.
But trying to discuss a topic like this seriously on 4chan is like trying to talk to a person in another language about rocket science. You probably haven't even read this far.
Which parts did you exactly relate to?
The speech impairment, being a normalfag, or being a fujoshit casual?
Keep bringing out terms like anti-social and introvert, when the description of your "friends" behaviour doesn't fit them.
>reads a one sentence descripton of someone online
>thinks he knows everything about a person
Please do explain how my friend was more autistic than introvert. Since you knew him so well.
You sound pretty autistic. I can tell because of how you talk.
>brings out one sentence of description
>complains about how someone bases their knowledge of only said sentence
It's like you aren't even trying.
I was confirming someones post. You just went off on my post defending autism as a viable buzzword.
And yes. You aren't even trying because all you're doing is using greentext to avoid having to defend your argument and make any points. I've already made multiple long posts explaining how autism has multiple symptoms and you haven't even tried to dispute that. All you've responded with is 'lol greentext you're an idiot'.
So yes, you're the one who is deflecting and not trying.
>uses greentext to avoid defending his argument
>complains about using greentext to avoid defending arguments
Don't know about you OP. But in my case is just good old second hand embarrassment.
Sadness for having to watch a shit show
I'm not autistic or stupid. I don't even have bad social skills. I was just very sheltered as a child. I understand perfectly. There's a lot I didn't know that everyone takes for granted -- like using stores.
The first time I went to a restaurant alone, it was with my first girlfriend and I was 19. I expected to know what to do but I totally didn't. Getting in and getting food was simple enough but then it came time to pay and I had no idea where to go or what to do. I looked around and in a panic to not appear to have aspergers, I grabbed the bill and started walking around. I debated going to the bathroom and flushing it down the toilet then leaving because I was panicking. It was fucking horrifying and weird.
It doesn't help that some stores do things differently. I went to a supermarket once that didn't bag everything for its customers so once I paid for a cart full of food, I panicked and started gathering everything into my arms because I didn't think I could leave the store with the cart.
When I moved out I didn't know how to pay bills. I had no idea how to mail things, how to write a check and I didn't have a bank account. At one point I thought it would be better to let my utilities be shut off than embarrass myself by asking a really, really stupid question from a stranger.
If Tomoko were real, I'm sure she'd grow up into a well rounded adult like me. No one would know that she was anything like she is in this series.
>walk into a supermarket
>didn't know there was a no bag policy
>the security stops me in the aisle and grabs my bag
>I think they think I'm shoplifting
You moved out, that's harder than anything else you listed by 10 fold.
For you, maybe. I knew my landlord and they offered me the place. I didn't have to jump through any hoops. Today I wouldn't say that anything I've said is at all difficult but without knowing how these basic things work, they're terrifying.
Soon after I moved out, I realized I needed new clothes. I didn't have a job, just did work for a few friends of my mom for cash from time to time. I knew I'd have to get one, though, and the unfitting clothes my mom bought me years ago weren't going to do any favors for my image. So I went shopping and it was a nightmare. I was 20 or so at the time and I really had no excuse but I didn't know how to shop for clothes. For a normal person whose parents didn't coddle them and keep them from the world, this would have been easy. I was not in such a position. I didn't know how to ensure that clothes fit, I knew almost nothing about fashion and I didn't know if the prices on the clothes were good. I wandered around The Gap for a few hours, becoming increasingly more nervous and scared. Mannequins wearing shorts and polos became headless abominations that would haunt my dreams. I got lost in a jungle of button-downs, jackets, and really ugly graphic tees. Every time I thought I had found a way out, I looked over to see the same Big Dog shirt I had passed thirty minutes ago. The leaf-like ruffle and twig-snapping clang of middle-aged women sifting through ugly blouses at break-neck speeds brought back memories from the Jurassic period, or at least a movie about it, and every time I rounded a male-model painted corner I half expected the clothing store equivalent of a T-Rex to charge at me. I couldn't stop fearing those words, "Do you need some help?"
Luckily, or maybe not, no one noticed me through the size XL T-shirts. Slowly, it occurred to me that I was 6'4" and, peering over the indigenous plant life hosted by the building, I realized that I was bigger than the fiendish cotton and polyester offered at the establishment I found myself at. Maybe a pair of jeans would work but there was no middle-ground between M and L shirts that didn't drape across my body like a table cloth with a head-hole cut in it. Maybe if I looked long enough but the blouse-sifting was intensifying and I feared that the chubby short girl at the counter had noticed my presence. I couldn't leave empty handed if she did -- I had been there for too long. I thought there must be some rule for stores that if they entertained the confusion of customers long enough that they must purchase something. Jeans it was, then. I didn't know my size and I knew none of them would fit. Sneaking back and forth between the changing room and the single area I knew I wouldn't be seen at, I determined that not only none of the jeans fit me but also that some shorter, fatter people in the future would put their legs into the same denim tubes mine were just in. After placing the last poorly-folded blue pile, which visibly read as "I didn't know what to do with the clothes I tried on, so I put it back and hoped no one would notice. Also my mom has always folded my clothes for me.", I noticed in the distance, catching the light in such a perfect way that it must have been a message from a god, was what had to have been something adequate. Between me and it, an amalgamation of sagging flesh, rickety bones and excruciatingly boring stories.
Given that I had yet to see another male, I was doubting that the store I was in even served men. Still, in the face of adversity I could not give up. Bounding between aluminum trees decorated with clothes hangars and their minions, I made it to some obscure sticker with numbers of it, the zombie from earlier facing away. I didn't know what they meant, didn't have time to try to figure it out, but I hoped that they would explain to me what size of pants I wore. So, I took them and I hoped that I wouldn't have to put them back. For what seemed like the hundredth time, I undressed in what felt like public, in front of a mirror that had seen countless near-naked men. I slid the denim onto my body and in a single desperate moment decided that they were good enough. My walk to the short, chubby girl was filled with both triumph and anticipation for disaster. I didn't know what to say so I pushed the jeans onto the counter in front of the girl and for an instant felt sorry that she was the one who had to deal with me. "Do you have a wharrgarble snappity toody loody card?" She belched.
"W-What?" I stammered.
"Whickety lickety fruit boot, card or shard nard? Will that be all tall ball fall?"
I stared, wide-eyed, expression freezing into a contrast to my previous feeling of accomplishment. I had no idea what the hell she was saying.
I respect you for pouring this out but you really gotta know how to greentext
"That'll be cooty blue shifty" she explained, poking buttons which produced a mechanical clink. Numbers stared at me from a display. I knew I had to calm down and process what she said to get through this, so I took a moment to think. It only made sense that I was supposed to pay for it, I figured, so I reached for my wallet and tried to match the numbers on the paper to the ones shining at me in green. I accidentally touched the girl's hand when I gave her the money and hoped she didn't think that I was tarnishing her. "Joop root, need lippity-tooty, please." I was in shock still, despite my best efforts. I stared at her lips as they moved but didn't produce anything intelligible. I made a guess that she wanted more money so I give her a $20 and hoped she wouldn't give me any change just so I could be out of there faster. After pushing more buttons, pinching coins and tearing a piece of paper off of the whining robot, she held out her hand to drop something. I cupped mine under hers and she rubbed her fingers against my palm as she pulled her thick phalanges away. Instead of screaming obscenities at me for skin contact, she handed me a bag and a piece of paper and told me to "Plank scoot, navel screw doopity doo." I thought that was my signal to leave so I did. I thought SWAT might jump out and gun me down for not following correct clothes purchasing procedure. I did make it safely to my hand-me-down car, though. The drive home was quiet and full of shame.
This pasta has been around for a while.
Considering that I just wrote it, I doubt that.
Oh well I'm a dumbass then
You're sure you're not autistic?
It's called second hand embarrassment.