The Goy Who Lived
The Goy Who Lived
on playing 4d chess with shysters and hookers
This is a story about ambition, masculine rivalry, and anima possession.
By the end of this tale your humble protagonist has been swindled by a Jew and transparently manipulated by a crafty Canadian hooker, yet somehow ends up less antisemitic and misogynistic as a consequence.
When reading this you shouldn’t feel bad for me or interpret it as my Joker Origin Story; these humiliations were entirely of my own making, and I wouldn’t have any right to brag about my triumphs if I weren’t just as willing to own my failures.
Besides, in the overall narrative arc of my life this experience was more Dickensian than anything. As painful as it was at the time, I can’t help but write about it today with a certain fondness, because in many ways it laid the foundation for the man I am today, and has become an integral part of my personal mythology.
I’ve had a lot of peculiar life experiences that have no doubt played a large role in shaping my rather unique perspective on the world.
Obviously becoming a famous internet racist and then getting unpersoned by Wojcicki and Dorsey is the most notable of these, and most of the others basically exist in the shadow of this one—particularly anything to do with my career.
As a precocious young neckbeard starting college at fourteen I intended to be a philosophy professor, and assumed I’d also dabble in various artistic pursuits over the course of my life. My parents were affluent, so I assumed I’d eternally have the right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.
Then my mom had a nervous breakdown precisely as my dad was changing careers, and we basically became lower middle class overnight. Suddenly ordering guac at Chipotle was no longer at the table and my beloved Monsters were replaced by Ice brand carbonated aspartame water. To an actual poor person this probably wouldn’t seem bad, but to a spoilt only child like me this was wretched poverty, and winning back my family fortune became not just a matter of comfort, but a moral imperative.
So I went back to study the most boring and practical STEM field imaginable. And for a while I did a halfway decent job at it. I retaught myself all of math through Calc II in a summer, maintained perfect grades my first two semesters, and made blistering progress toward my professional credentials. But I also despised the subject matter and found it a miserable experience compared to studying philosophy, which had come so very easily to me, and where there was usually at least one guy in every class who I somewhat got along with and who had somewhat interesting opinions.
STEM was different. I hated my shape rotator professors with their indecipherable accents and nonexistent social skills. I hated my weird Chinese classmates who picked their nose in class. I hated that my homework had an objectively correct answer and I couldn’t finesse my way to a perfect GPA. I hated every aspect of the whole enterprise.
But I also wanted guac at Chipotle, and so I kept at it.
Which honestly wasn’t hard… until I started to take off as a persona in the Alt Right. Earning genuine status in that world satiated my ambitious drive a hell of a lot better than acing my calc final, and that made it much harder to do anything but the bare minimum in my retarded STEM program. I even got a C (the scandal!) in Linear Algebra (which unfortunately involved a lot more than y=mx+b) because I didn’t touch the material until 30 minutes before the final exam. Meanwhile I procrastinated getting an internship for so long that I ended up getting paid like $12 / hour while all my classmates were making at least twice that.
On some level this was quite embarrassing… but I was also swinging vastly above my league in all sorts of ways due to the opportunities opened up via shitlording, so for the most part I just dissociated at school and lived for my life online. I was able to convert my internship into a full time role because my Faustian Spirit made me more creative in VBA than my azn peers (also because my manager bonded with me over hating bugmen), but once I actually landed the role I was never more than an adequate employee very good at polishing his mediocrity with a stratospheric verbal IQ.
Obviously this situation couldn’t survive my deplatforming. Once I lost my YouTube and Twitter and casting couch e-girl gee eff I was just some weird neckbeard with a mediocre entry level STEM job, and clearly that wasn’t acceptable. So I buckled down for a few months, made rapid progress toward my credentials, became a phenomenal interviewer, and was able to land a plum consulting gig in the middle of corn country.
In my famous screed against Nebraska I played up how I wasn’t accepted here… and that was sort of true. But I never really gave you the whole story.
It was certainly the case in terms of social acceptance; I actually learned many months after my departure that several people who were always perfectly friendly to my face actually hated me the entire time. That’s just how Midwesterners are. Say what you want about Jews, at least they tell you how they feel.
But in terms of career Nebraska was nothing short of wonderful to me, and this is ironically what planted the seeds of my incredible disdain for Corporate America.
You see, while working in this role I became great friends with a coworker who sort of became my Cornhusker Gunga Din. I’d actually planned to make this happen weeks in advance of starting the job because I saw him posting pro-Trump stuff on FB and assumed it would be easy to turn him into my white nationalist disciple. Which it sort of was in the sense that he easily accepted my hatefacts about race and IQ… but also wasn’t at all in that he didn’t care one whit about the implications of such things. He’d merely shrug his shoulders and go back to talking about Bitcoin.
The most sentient and worldly Nebraskan.
Anyway, this dude was a true native son. He thought of Omaha as The Big City because he grew up as a farm kid in a small town and literally spent his childhood husking corn. He was by no means uneducated or unrefined (his family were actually local elites because of farmland consolidation), but compared to the city slickers in Omaha he wasn’t remotely savvy in self-advocacy and sort of emitted these credulous Butters Stotch vibes, so the consultancy we worked at was reaming his asshole.
To give you some idea, he and I did precisely the same job and possessed virtually identical experience and credentials, but I was making around $110k at the time while he was pulling in something like $80k.
Now don’t get me wrong—they liked him a lot more than me. But that had nothing to do with how they treated him. They gave me a better deal the entire time I worked there because I was a savvier negotiator and they perceived me as more willing to leave. I’d also do things like come into the office at 2am and do a bunch of work (after half-assing all day) to make it look like I was busting my ass, whereas he had a tendency to downplay his work if anything. Probably what they teach you on the farm.
But the reality of the situation is he was a much harder working and far more technically competent employee than me, and I actually leaned on him pretty heavily well into my tenure there to explain basic shit to me because I hadn’t been paying attention. To be frank, there were numerous times where he completely saved my ass.
So I tried to pay him back for this by teaching him what I could about how to exert leverage in salary negotiations during our annual performance review. I helped him collect salary survey data and collate his achievements into a concise verbal presentation, and pointed him to some helpful resources on business communication.
This worked out pretty well for him; he got a promotion and a raise to like 95k.
I got the same promotion and an even bigger raise—along with some interesting references to the possibility of profit sharing in the immediate future. But along with this came a passive-aggressive reprimand from management.
“It wasn’t appreciated,” my boss told me, “that collaboration occurred during salary negotiation.”
“Of course we know it’s inevitable that friendships will form in the office. But you don’t want to hitch your wagon to the wrong horse.”
So I took that lesson to heart and set the faggot’s stable on fire.
Within a month I’d accepted a new role and was on my way back to Florida, and in the months that followed helped both Gunga Din and two other underpaid employees find easier and higher-paying work at another firm—both because I genuinely wanted to help them, and because I felt obligated to disembowel my former employer for talking to me like that. To this day thinking about how much money they must have lost from concentrated staff turnover practically makes me cum.
Don’t get me wrong—from a financial standpoint they’d treated me perfectly well the entire time I worked there. But telling me not to help my friend had crossed a line.
Sometimes honor matters more than money.
But honor isn’t always the best thing for your soul.
The next year of my life—which overlapped the first year of Covid lockdowns—was a weird liminal period in which I self actualized like never before in some respects (getting seriously in shape for the first time, growing genuinely capable with women) and simultaneously started down a path of volcanic debauchery (sex addiction, amphetamine abuse) I’ve only begun to temper very recently.
But it’s in the professional realm where I allowed myself to decay most severely. For nearly a year I had a job where I did basically nothing, except during a few weeks around quarter end, wherein I’d run a few macros in Excel and make sure nothing broke. For this I received a six figure salary and excellent benefits.
On the plus side, this gave me a virtually unlimited amount of time to get in shape, catch up on my reading after years of never touching a book, and day drink with various zoomer sugar babies. On the downside, my already flimsy technical skills evaporated and I began to grow miserably depressed due to being such a useless faggot.
If only I’d known about job stacking back then!
It wasn’t long before this grew intolerable and I managed to finesse my way back into a juicy consulting role at Deloitte, where our present story begins in earnest.
For those of you who don’t know how it works at a Big Four… well, consider yourselves lucky, first of all.
But basically you’re booked on one or more (usually more) “engagements,” either as an auditor or as a consultant, and will be responsible for producing various ~deliverables.
If you’re a manager or above you’ll typically interface directly with the client under the broad supervision of a director (plus a partner who in practice doesn’t do much besides schmoozing with execs on the client side), while associates and seniors will have a more supervised role.
I started out at Deloitte as a senior, but quickly got promoted to manager. I probably wasn’t ready for it at the time (my director certainly told me as such) but I was ferociously eager to prove myself after a year of stygian dissociation on a glorified UBI, and had been rather chastened to find myself reporting to a cute lil Asian broad several years younger than myself on my first engagement.
So with that mindset I was willing to do whatever it took to succeed.
Some such behaviors were pretty ordinary—I worked insane hours, sought out work on new engagements with entrepreneurial vigor, promoted myself aggressively, and ultimately found a patron (the aforementioned director) who was willing to pull me up through the ranks in exchange for putting up with treatment that had alienated and scared off sensitive Millennial snowflakes in the past.
Other behaviors were a lot less conventional, and this is where we meet the talented Shylock who serves as the sort-of antagonist of this story. It’s also where I’ll put the paywall, because I don’t want Freefags reading the rest of this.