I witnessed a brutal red pill moment today. Stepped into the elevator at the office with this landwhale, easily pushing 100 kilograms, taking up half the damn space. One of the VPs rolls inâa chunky mid-40s dude, but heâs got that alpha posture and owns it. She tries some small talk, probably fishing for validation, and he gives her a quick head nod like âyeah, whatever.â She starts yammering about her weekend plansânobody askedâwhen the doors slide open. In walks this slim, tight 23 year-old chick, probably a 7 or 8. Mid-sentence, VP spins on a dime, lights up like a horny teenager, and hits her with a âHey, howâs your week going?â Full-on charm mode, grinning ear-to-ear, practically wagging his tail. The fattie wasinstantly shutdown. Face drops, story dies mid-breath, and sheâs staring at her sausage feet crammed into shoes two sizes too small. You could see the hamster wheel spinningâhumiliation sinking in hard. I got where she was at, but sympathy? Nah, man. Sheâs old enough to know the game. You wanna play at a higher level? Drop the blubber and stop being a walking punchline. Losers get smacked with it 24/7âlittle cuts, big wounds, every damn second. Most of us donât even clock it, too busy grinding our own shit. But they feel it, brothers. Every sideways glance, every interrupted convo, itâs the world screaming âyouâre nothingâ right in their face. VP didnât even know he was shivving herâheâs just following the script. The jungle rules. No mercy, no opt-out. Lift, eat clean, and stay sharp, or get left behind with the rest of the human wreckage.