Let me tell you about a special kind of hell — not the fire and brimstone variety peddled by toothless evangelists with whisky breath and bloodshot eyes, but the slow, soul-stripping demise of the modern job hunt. It's a savage ritual, a Kafkaesque dance of digital resumes, keyword-optimized groveling, and Zoom interviews where you smile like a lunatic while explaining your 'passion for collaboration' to a middle manager who died inside during the Obama administration.

Every click on LinkedIn is a descent into a new layer of madness. Endless postings from companies that don’t exist, or do exist but don’t hire — or worse, they do hire, but only those who can code in seven languages while simultaneously juggling fire and quoting Nietzsche in Japanese. They ask for five years of experience for an entry-level role. They want a unicorn but only want to pay peanuts. It’s a madhouse. A grand illusion curated by HR goblins hopped up on jargon and delusions of grandeur.

Then come the interviews. Round one. Round two. Sometimes round seven. You’ll be psychoanalyzed by panels with job titles like "Happiness Engineer" or "Culture Evangelist." They ask questions like, "What’s your spirit animal in a team setting?" and "If you were a kitchen appliance, which one would you be and why?" By round four, you're not answering — you're hallucinating. You start to believe you are a blender. High-speed. Multi-functional. Easily replaceable.

Ghosting is the norm. Automated rejection emails arrive faster than pizza delivery. "We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate," they say, as if they’re doing you a favor. No feedback. No reason. Just a digital slap across the face and a cheerful emoji from a chatbot named Kevin.

And amidst this circus of lies, you’re told to stay positive. Manifest success. Hustle harder. Network more. Build your brand. You need to be grateful, they say — as if employment is a sacred gift bestowed upon the worthy, not a basic damn necessity for survival in this late-stage capitalist rodeo.

Burnout doesn’t even begin to cover it. This is existential erosion. This is watching the horizon for signs of sanity and finding only more fog, more smoke, more mirrors. And yet, we keep clicking. Keep applying. Keep pretending.

Because what else can you do? Opt out? Join a commune? Sell crystals on Etsy? Maybe. But until then, we march — resume in hand, sanity in question — into the swirling void of job listings, hoping some mythical recruiter will finally look up from their third coffee and say, "Yes, this one. The blender. Hire them."