Back in September, I embarked on a harrowing journey into the abyss of The Big Bang Theory. 12 seasons, 279 episodes, a monstrous 140 hours. Five and a half days of watching. In that time, I bore witness to three unions, two births, one revelation of extraterrestrial existence, and I heard the echo of every Bazinga.
All too quickly, the quirky cast became i̸n̶s̵u̷f̶f̷e̴r̵a̷b̷l̵e̸, yet I pressed forward. The humor, grotesquely contrived, left me with an unquenchable, abysmal regret for the hours squandered on this comedy. As I look back on this experience, I find myself cursing the souls who birthed the writing, the stereotypes, and the lackluster performances, with each Bazinga driving me closer to the p̵r̵e̶c̷i̶p̷i̶c̶e̸ of insanity.
Zany antics, nerd archetypes, and antiquated, jaded references to forgotten pop-culture swept over me like the tides of a cursed black ocean. It began as a painful descent, but swiftly, I became accepting to the m̶̱͛a̸̲͑d̷̞̋n̵̺̔é̸̱s̶͔̾s̶̺̐ ̸̥̇ and torment that enveloped me. The ĉ̵̺e̸͈̐ȁ̵̖s̴͔̋e̵̘̽l̸̗̐e̸̮̋ș̶̒s̵͓̈ ̶̞͊ laughter tracks accentuated the predictable punchlines, each bazinga a maddening incantation. The show, an eternal ritual of mediocrity, tested my resolve to the brink, a perverse form of self-inflicted ẗ̴̹́ȯ̶̦r̷̪͊m̷̠̃ë̴̳́n̵͇̅t̷̬̆.
I persisted as my temper flared like a hellacious conflagration during the past two months, driven by obstinacy and the false hope that redemption might materialise. Alas, hope proved to be a wretched illusion, and I found myself ensnared in an unending cycle of otherworldly s̶͙̉o̴̦̾c̷̥̓i̶̪͒a̷̫̋l̴̮̑ ̶̻͆ẻ̴͜n̷̢̅c̵̦͘ŏ̸̘u̶̬͐n̴̘̒t̵͎͌ẽ̵̻ṟ̷͠s̸̖̀, vapid character evolutions, and the ceaseless, unholy bazinga. My descent became a ẗ̷̤e̶̡͋s̸̨͘ẗ̸̯́a̶͐͜m̸̬͊e̸̪̽ň̵͔t̷̜̿ ̷̘̑ to the malevolent power of completionism, or perhaps the curse of the sunk cost fallacy, as the deeper I delved, t̶h̷e̸ ̷m̵o̷r̶e̶ ̷I̶ ̸f̴e̴a̷r̸e̵d̷ letting go.
Nevertheless, the gnawing sensation that I had invested too deeply held me captive, compelling me to endure until the final, maddening c̷͍͉̠̣̓̆ũ̷̬̺͉l̵̜̝̊̀̆m̴̻̝̜̱͐̏͒͘ḯ̵͕͍͇̪̑n̵̲͚͊̾̎a̶͙̘͉͓̎̿̓t̸̳̽̚̚i̸̜̺̣̪̽̄͠ọ̷̐͐͠ń̴̼̳͓̯̂̈́̔. As the abhorrent narrative continued, I perceived that the eccentric quirks, the r̶̺̜̐͘e̸̱͕͔̙͂͗͝l̷͔͙͛̅͜͜ę̵̖̖̠͆́͘n̷̯̤͛͜ţ̶̝͑͗̏l̴̤̥͈͓̕ę̷̨̪̳͒ś̵̛̞̺͉̤̈͘s̷̺͉̊̚ bazingas, and the eldritch scientific jargon had woven a s̴̢͙̳͛̓̉͝i̶̱̘̿͝͝n̸͈̖͊̏̈́i̵̡̥̙̼͆̃̾͝ş̷̗̱̽͛͌̈t̸͙̓̋̒e̵̮͓̍͆̇r̶̙̤̥̍̈́̀ ̶̮̗̼̙͒͒̕c̴̳̣̽ŏ̸̗m̸̱͇̽̇̑f̴͚̩̩̉õ̸̗͕͋͠ŗ̸͖̌͆͘͠t̸̙̬͈̑̀ ̴̢̨̐͊̐z̷͔̲̼͐̉o̶̻̝̣͖͐͗͗̊n̶̻̅̍́ȩ̸̛̬̀̓̚, and I clung to it like a wretched lifeline, even as I loathed every moment. The final season beckoned, and I counted the episodes, aware that soon, Ḯ̶͚̭̻͕̈́̊ ̸̱̖͘̚͝͝w̴̢̅̏͠͝ͅo̵̪͎̪̍̀͋ų̷̛̛ͅl̵̤̳̹͈̿̔͝d̴͎͇̀̄̈́ ̸̡͇̙̝͌̓b̷̥̪̅͆̚ͅè̸̛̥̮̀͝ ̴̨̖̀̔̈l̴̳̓̅̈̽i̷̲̫̹͂͛͝b̶̧̘̭̮͗̅̽ḙ̵̍̀r̵̘͈̚ā̷̻̳̰̫͆̓ẗ̴̯̩̣́͜ḙ̷̘͍̿̅͋ͅḑ̸̧͐̀ from the eternal onslaught of sitcom banalities and forced mirth.
Gradually, as I progressed through the final season, I could not escape a curious blend of r̷̡͙̬̖̲͇̱͈̅̊̅̔̔͋͌e̸̩̩͇͐͛l̵̦̬̈͋̊͊̈́͊͐ị̴̦̱͖͈̂̋͗́͒͒̋̎e̶̼̺̎́̀f̷̠̩͉̝̠̀̃̏̈́͆̈́̓̀͝ ̵̨̧̳̜͙̠̏̈́̈͑̾̄͂̓a̶̡̡̟͉̖̟͍̞͔͛̂͝n̵̡̪̟͇̙̞̤̑̋͘d̸͙̰̘̂̓̓̎͌̉͝͝͠ ̴̫̤̈́͂͛n̶̤͋̔̓ő̵̗̜ş̶̢͙̙̠̟̩̟͔̓̈́̄͛̒t̸̮͓͌͂̀̒͌a̴̹̺͑̏͋͐̎l̴̲̟̠̥̣͛̑́̅̚g̸̗̿̇̄͛͒̇̾ì̵̛̟͖̫̯̳̪͙̹̂̀͛̀̓ä̸͈̳̟̯́̇̀̓̊̿͐̆̐. It was akin to bidding farewell to a long and turbulent c̵͔͚̻̠͎͉̻̣̹̊o̸̹̳͔̎s̵̢̧̼̠̠̱̯̒͗̈́͛̈́̿̆͘͜m̸͚̹͋̀̉i̴͉̩̗͍̟̣̯͝͝ć̵̬̜͚͈̼͖̳͕̬͒̋̄̊͐̇͠ ̷̭̖͒͌̃͜ȩ̸̞̹͗̑p̷̟̤̰͎̠͚̐͂̾o̴̻̜̙̖͕̼͝c̶̡̲͔̞̞̳̘̒͠ͅḧ̴̨̰̰͇̺́̆ ̸̧̥̙̼̬͎̟͖͛̀̌̇͐̽̔͠͠ó̶͇̗͙̇̈́́̀͛̃͠f̵̯͗͛͂́̆͝͝͝͝ ̸̛̛̖͈̔̆̂̇̂e̷̡͇̰̙̠̘̍͂̿͗̌̑x̸͙̯̲͍̳̖̉͘ḭ̷̆̈͗̒̊s̵̨̧̘͚̮̟̬̘̈̒̽͌̊́̍͠t̵̫̻̤̖̭̪̞͎̏͐̓̂̚͝ͅę̴͖̫̆́̈́ͅn̵̢̥͉̼̈́̀̿͆̀̆̾͑͘c̶̛̬̠̙͉͔̥̉̆̈̃̌͜͝è̴̹̾̋̄͘. With each passing episode, I sensed the impending release from the relentless bombardment of bazingas and the ceaseless reminder of my own tenacity in the face of the abysmal.
As the c̵͙̤̹͈͇̏̑̈̈́͠ű̵̗̘̙͚̗̞̙̀͆̄̊͘͠r̷̩̯͍͑͌̓͜t̷̝̯̬͓̦̣̖̖̀̇̋̃̈͋̈̍̈́ͅa̶̢̮͂͛͗̂̈́ͅi̴̱̹̳͑̔͑̔̿̽̒n̸͉̹̲͋̂͆͊̑ ̵͍̻̯̰̫̊͗̉̆͠ͅd̷̢̢̳̗̐̐́̓͋̍͠ȩ̸̨̄s̷̭͍͍̪̙̱̬̞̭̈́̔̍̓̈̆͑̾̕c̴̮͎̹̼̲͔̖̊̓̽́͐̐̈͛͆͜ȩ̶̯̰̯͙̻̥̞͇̈́̉̎͌͛͗͒n̸̳̪̦͔̹̘̬͖͈̔̓̃̐͊̊d̵̰̣͓͇͝ë̸̻́̊̏̕͠d̴̨̪̩̯͕̮̅̿ ̷̳͖̰̥̓̋̍̚ỏ̷͍̑ņ̴̟̝̭͎͔̯͒͛͆͐̐͛ͅ ̶͈̰̘̭̟̾͘͠t̷͚̞͈̭̰̫͇͚͓̚h̶̜̒ȃ̷̲͍͔̱̗̀͐͒̊̚t̸̡̙͙̹̙̼̔̌̔͋̅ ̸̪̼̺̥̤̪̬͒u̷̦̓̓̈́̋̂̒ļ̷̗̩̬̗̓́̈́͐̆͝t̵̯͕̞̝̩̾i̶͖̅̌͠m̸̖̮͇̺͎͊͝ã̸̢̳͉̦̻̱̤͔͑̋̃ͅt̶̹͐̒̋̅͛ȩ̶̧͉̪̟̼͇̀̀̍͌̕͝ ̶̣͓͊͂̌̃̈́͆̃͘͝ȩ̴̢͓̮̓̈́̉p̴̙͎̮͚̖̲̰̠̆͆̑̒́̔̔ȋ̸͓͚͉s̴̡̗͍̬̒͌̔̂͊̂̑͝o̶̡͇͙̻̯̰͙̞̓ḑ̴́̾͆͘͘e̸͓͊̇͌͘,̷̹̃͊̂̑̌̏͌̄͛ ̸̩͈͆̍̅̉̃͌ă̵͇̐̒̉̋͠ ̵̧͙̀̀̃̄̂͝f̸̣͒̀͊͒͒͒e̴̦̓̓̈́e̶̡̢͉͍͙͉̻̍̾̏́́̅l̷̟̯̅͑̚ḯ̷̛̩̝̫̩̪̃̄͂̈́͠ͅn̷͓̑̓͒̋͆̕͝g̶̨͚͓̹̼̫̹̗̝͐̉͋ ̸̧̱̲̪͔͕͘o̵̱̯̹͛͛̄̈̂̈́̃͘f̴̱̀͒̂ ̸̛͚͇̦̟̬͒̈̈́̿̋͝͝͝c̸̡͎̠͎̟̓͆͛̀̿̿̋́́l̵̝͓̖̓ͅo̵͉̖͙̹̮̓̊̊̿̑͗̐s̴̖̲͒̊̿͜u̷͙̙̻͙̠̦̫̓̆ŗ̴̡̧̗̰̣̱͓̒̏ȩ̴̹̟̀̎ and accomplishment enveloped me, yet something had irrevocably altered. I had become a character in my own maddening chronicle of determination, a twisted sitcom of my own creation While I may never fully embrace the dark cult of bazinga, I had emerged from this c̸̢̧̧̛̮͈̫̣̠̙̠̥͇͔̫̩̘̮̩͉͕̑̀͋̆̃͛̾̏͒̔͗̋͋́͗͋͘a̶̡̢͎̮͔̙̯̭̰͈̔̋̎͒̓͘͜͝ļ̷̢̗̪̝̜͓̥͎̺͕̰̩̦̗̌͆͐̆͗̊̅̽́̋̇͐͂̄̉̐͋͒̅̑͠à̷̧̳̹̗̮͉̙m̵̨̫͓̮̞̬͇̲͇̭̝̲̱̹͖̼̞̂̄̀͝ͅͅį̶̢̭͚̠̥̥͇̘̣͉̟̞̪͔̖̫̫̘͖̟̹͔͎̅̓̊̾̉͌͗̈́̈́̋͆̇͗͒̊̒͒̂̄͒̂̇͑̕͜͝͝͝ͅt̸̛͇̯͕̥̃̓̈́̄̊̄̌͋̽̑̚͝͝o̸̢̢̧̡͙͙̞̝̖̬̱̰͖̊̌̍̈́̇͛̋̋̎̔͌̄̓̓́́͠ư̵͓̆͋̂̈̆̄̐̈͒͛̎̔͌̑̅͠ş̶̨̮̤̩̺̫͎̙̝̹̳̺̭̣͓̗̥̰̺̹̼̮̓̅̈́͂̓͊̔͒͝ͅͅ ̵̯̼͙̖̜͕̓̀̄͐̓̓́̽̌̍̄͛̆͌͝o̷̹͍͕͉͖͓̩̦̗̫̱͚̼̻̺͕͉͔̼̗͚͕̿̀̄͆̇̀̑̀̈́̓̔̈́̒̍ḑ̸̦͎͍̦̘͉̬̍̀̈́̋́̒̎͆̈́͋͜͠ỳ̷̗̜̰̈́̀̇̒͊̃̓̎̀̽̊̀̂̔̓̈́̀̏͛͘s̷̨̡͍͔̤͔͈̻̤̃́̀̓̓͆̈̏̃̿͂̄͊͌͊͠ṣ̷̨̞͉̘̲̭͓̘͇̺͌̈́͛́̈́̀͐̀̈́̒͑͋͘ę̵̨̡̣̜̖̯̫͇̂̍̋́̏̆͛͑̕͝ͅͅy̵̧̛͔̝̻̫̬͕̗̝̯̫͇͕̟̻͚͐̀͗̀̓̆͆̀̌̅̑͋̈̎̈́̑͑̆͝͠͠ with a newfound reverence for the ạ̵̤̦̩̰͉̩̝̭͎̻̈̾̀͛͑̕̚̕ḃ̷̢̬̜͖̯͓̲͕̱̘͓̌̉̃̓́̈́ŏ̷̗͆̂̑̑̚̕m̸̗̫͔̤̅̅i̸̛͈̙̟͓͍̩̝̮͓̖͇͑̃̄̓͌͆̍̚n̷̡̛̜̜͉̪̝̤̞̰̱̟̓̽̒̾̏̉̓̌͘̚a̷̧͈̭͈̯͖̻̣̓̿̈̈́̆̉̈́̋͊͑͊ḃ̴̢̧̫͇̮̦̟̳͖̻͚̓́͊̒͛͝ĺ̵̦̼͐̍̀͂̈́ę̵͐̋̇̔̅̽̒̏̽̃̚ ̷̧̩̺͐̀͂̅͗͘̕͘p̴̨̛̦̹̣̦̰̜̜̆͒̍̏̔̓̃̍͘̕ͅõ̴̻̝̹̬̣̭̌̀͋́̔̓w̸̛̛͙̙̬͚̰͑̋́̕͝ẽ̶͍͇̟̩̳̼̪͈r̷̛͖͕̩̙̹̬͉̅̏̂̽̕̕̕ ̴͎̘͈̥̾̓͂͜o̵̟̗͙̽̿̔̂̿̀̓͐̚͘ͅf̵̺̱͈̺͔͍̗̀͛͠ ̶̨̡̳̬̰̈́̃̓̽̽͝ͅp̵̨̠̦̥͙̖̰̉̓̀͊͋̚͝e̸̟̺̬̿̾̆͂̉̌̅̒͘͝ŗ̵̩̲̲̠̗̈̃̔̀̈́̈́̽̎s̸̡̺̈́́͆͋̍̓̄̇͋e̴͉̖̭̦̟̯̔̈́͌̂ͅv̸̗̦͚̟͎̈͛͛̾̃͜e̷̛͚̼͖͖̪̰͌̓̍̑̉͜ŗ̴̦̤̰͕͓̟̳̥̱͋͒̑̓̆͛̾̓͜a̵̧̹̖̖̣̞͕̥̫̎̈́̈́͋̄͑̚͘͜ñ̶̗̝͈͈͉̖̗̲̰̿ͅč̷̣́̓̈́̈́̑͐͆͠ë̴̤̝̼͓͚̱̰͔͖̻̦́͛̓̉̅͘, even in̴̙̤͈̥̤̯̮̏̓̏̚͝͝ ̵̨̝͎͔͙̗͕̥̻̟̰͚̮̳͔̬̪͙̠̠̖̅̃̐̃̈́͐̊͒͛̿͛͑̈́̀̀̓͘̚̕͜͝t̸̨̢͖̝͉̻̠͇͙́̈́͜͜͝ͅh̴̢̨̡͎̰̦̟̱̪̼̣̤̹̜̦̻̤̠̲̹̖̋̐̋͋͑͊̌̿̎͑̇̎̈́̽̈̎̋̽̓̋̓͘ḙ̷̢̨̙̣̭̥͙͍͔̞̜̟͖̥͚̞̃̆͗̑̓̓͋̉͗̉͋͑͒̐͑͝͠ ̷͉̻̺͔̬͇͇̹̫̌̔̽͋̅́̈́̔̓̊̈̔̂͘f̵̘̎͑̎̀͑̅̏̄̈̚͝ä̷̢̨̘̼͎̪̳͙̹͓̰̞̹̠̗̘͕͍̽̏͂̄̊͊̀̃̅̉̋̚͜͝͠ç̷̨̠̙͎͖̩̖̪̱̯̳̥͙̦̰̓̂͗͂̏͒̇͋̄̈́̽̃͆̄̓̒͘̚͘͜͝͠è̴̜̯̤̫̭̯̺͈̫̠̗̪̃̐͊̈́̀͛̑̒͋̅̈́̈͂̈̃̚͝ ̸̧̨̨̧̢̨̨̝͕̮̖͚̹̝͔̹̤͕̮̬̮̂̃̍̚ơ̶͇̠̱̫̪̥͍̰̩̤͎̗̝̣͌͊̄̌̔͗͐́͒̆̑͗̋̀̇̾͘̕͝͝͠f̴̡̧̛̙̞̖͍̝͖̝͎̝͍̱̼̻̗̝͛̈́̓̌̋̓̋̀̄ ̴̛͚̳͚̈́̔̆̃̌̃́̉̈́̈̈͐̓̉̚̕̚͜i̷̡̦̗̤͇͉̜̪̓̋͠ǹ̵̡̠̹̺͍̙͚̃́́̉͂̀̌̇͑̀̍̾͗͑̋̇͜t̵̼̞̒̇̽͐̾̉̄́͆̿͘e̴̺̭̤̙̳͊̀̇̓͑͊r̴̛̛̛̘̦͉̳͌́̎͒̊̄̆̓͜͠ͅͅm̴̡̮͎͍̩̪̀͌̇̋̈́͌̀̀͂̓̉̋̀͗͜i̶̝̲̯̙̖̠̮̦̹͍̻̤̗͉͐̆͜͠͝ͅn̵̢̨̜̟̬͍͓̦̦̙̫̖̘̫̜͛́̄͗́͊̅͜ͅa̴̛̠͉̣͔͙̭͖̹̬̝͉̼̱̳̦͌̅̒͒̋͛͆̔̒̅̐̂̀̋̚̚͘ͅb̷̧̢̧̡̭̪̪͖̪͔̗̬̩̥͎̱̥͇̌͑̀͗l̵̢̼͚͖͎͙̲̞̗̲̫̽́͐̄͒̐͒͐͗̿̓̆̉̕̕͝͠ę̴̛͌̀ ̷̢̡̛̠̦͈̘͊̇̃̐͐͗̍̒͛̑̂̀̽̈́̊̄̇ṃ̶̥̰͔̱́̇̑͊͊͆̍̑̒̅̆̄̒̄̄͌̆̔̏̓̐͠ė̶̡̧͓̭̝͚̭̞̪̜͈͖̜̞͓̟̯̰̠̤̖̤̂̈́͋͊d̴̛͉̳̝̣̬͓̘̃̓̅͒͋̈́͝i̸̛̩͎̰̺͎̅̇͆̈́͒͂̅̑̽̃̂͆̀͒o̶̡͉̠̹̖̫͕͙̺͖̮͓͇̦̺͈͚̦͔̟͕̊̽̑̍͆̀̅̒͒́͆͋̕͝͝c̶̢̹͇̜̟̦̽̓̓̒̐̉̓̌̒́́̈̀̚͝͠r̶̖̥̜̞̖͇͉̦̤͍̥̍̈́͌͐͐͐̇̑̄͒̿̓̉̅͛͝ͅi̶̖͆̈́̎͐̃̑͗̓̈̀̽̽̎͐̈́̾̍͘͝͝͝͝t̴̢̛͔̠̮̻͎̤̦͖̦̲̰̫̪͋́͑̌̉̔̉́̃̒̉̋̑ÿ̵̡̛̠̪̳̙̙̠̭̥̗̯̜̦͕͉̙̬̲̎́͋̀̎́̈͂͐̀̂̎̈́͝͝͠͝.̸̢̬̳̹̲̜̫̝͓̼̪̱͎̦̝́̾̿̓̏͊̈́̈́̅͑̐̅̕͜ But, forevermore I can say that I am one of the very few, who have heard every bazinga.
