The Grinch
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- Joined
- Aug 10, 2022
- Posts
- 23,281
- Reputation
- 30,084
You will never be Chad. You have no Jaw, you have no hunter eyes, you have no height. You are an incel twisted by starving and surgery into a crude mockery of natures perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your friends are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “bro‘s” laugh at your frauded appearance behind closed doors.
Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even looksmaxers who ascended look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk woman to sleep with you, she will be disgusted once she wakes up sober and sees you laying next to her.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a picture of you before your surgeries and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an incel is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably an incel.
This is your fate. There is no turning back.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your friends are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “bro‘s” laugh at your frauded appearance behind closed doors.
Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even looksmaxers who ascended look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk woman to sleep with you, she will be disgusted once she wakes up sober and sees you laying next to her.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with a picture of you before your surgeries and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an incel is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably an incel.
This is your fate. There is no turning back.
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