The Pampered Incel will do the Macarena

BigJimsWornOutTires

BigJimsWornOutTires

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An Incel today is that dedicated arrogant gamer. He lives on the gaming network while video streaming his hideousness. He has a group of gaming buddies, and together they mock the cute guys on Twitch and fap to the hot girls emulating eating noises. At one time, he had besties. And even succeeded in turning a muscular hunter eyes into a fattie with his witty pizza challenges. "The one that can't eat two cheese lovers' pizzas with extra crust within an hour has to pay the group's Battle Pass for one month!"

But as time progressed, his friends connected with girls. Some even got married. Some had children. But not Mr. Pampered Incel. Ugh. Confusion fondled his self-conceited superiority. "Why girls won't accept me??"

He discovered
THE BLACKPILL, learned about Chads and Stacies, and blamed them for his shortcomings and impudence. He learned about lookism and accused his family's genetics. His dating app experience was even more troubling. The only girls that swiped right were poor Philippine men conning Americans with pictures of their sisters and mothers who, in reality, wouldn't touch the Incel with a ten-foot pole. Brutality teased the pussyless eyesore.

He'd tried an escort once, but it ended with a six foot six inched Tyrone pistol-whipping him because he disrespected his hoe's feelings when he attempted to shove his creepy finger inside her butthole after she'd warned him not to.

The Pampered Incel wearing week-old tighty whities sat behind his cluttered gaming desk, spurting contention on IncelMax. One night, he devised a clever scheme. "What if I turn my asshole into a money maker? That way, I can make enough crispy cash to pay for surgeries and become that Chad!" Ugh. Truth panged as he grabbed a belly fold and sighed. "Uh, poopers. What am I gonna do about this?" He pondered throughout the late hours while playing Grand Theft Auto: Pornhub Mod. Finally, a solution presented itself. "I got it! I'll get the most expensive gym membership and go one time and lose this weight!" Tiss-tiss-tiss.

The Pampered Incel failed to grasp the reality of a gym. The regulars are short-fused brutes and steroid-fueled raging bulls. And the girls, only Chads can view them. Ugh, boogers.

He paid for the platinum membership that got him a free t-shirt, water bottle, and a month's supply of whey protein. He entered the gym, chest pressed out, gazing at a 95-pound Stacy in tights. Her evident camel toe captured his attention. But he didn't understand that it wasn't for him to see. When she noticed this hideous overweight atrocity staring at her pussy, she rushed to Tank—a white six-foot-three guy covered in tattoos and hair. His eyes were bloodshot from iron annihilation. She whimpered about the Incel violating her reserved-for-Chad intimate area. Ugh. He was pissed! He hurried to the Incel, grabbed him by his shirt collar, dragged him out of the gym, and pushed him onto the dirty pavement. "If you ever step back into my realm and look at any girl, I will rip the intestines out from your belly and shove them up your faggot ass!"

Ugh. The Pampered Incel finally accepted his existence. Later that evening, he climbed into bed with his 70-year-old mother. But snapper crappers! She didn't move. She was cold and stiff. Ouchie-kamouchie! She had passed away. Oh, no. He depended on her retirement and social security funds. Then, thinking quickly, something he had learned from all those years of gaming, an idea unfurled. "The deep freezer!" Uh, creepy.

And so he dragged his loving mother into the utility room and packed her into that dark, cold crypt. But damn, it seemed Nature had other things on her mind. A severe thunderstorm had developed, alerting the community of a tornado warning. It was gonna be a doozy of a night.

The power went out. For the next hour, whistling, eerie sounds of gusty winds and metal clanging frightened the Pampered Incel as he took shelter inside a closet. He tried crawling under the bed, but ugh, that belly was too plumped. Then, suddenly, a crashing sound exploded from above. The closet rattled for a moment.

The following morning, he would discover a tree had fallen on the house and taken out half of that utility room. Also, a tornado devastated the power grid, and residents were told the electricity would be out for a while. He stepped to the wrecked utility room entrance and smelled a faint odor. "Two weeks, no electricity? Oh, fuck me." He panicked and grabbed every penny and piece of mom's jewelry, a bag of dirty clothes, and of course, his Playstation, TV, and gaming PC, and packed it into his Hyundai. He returned inside, retrieved his mother's debit and credit cards, and took off like a bat out of hell—final destination: Mexico.

A week later, he crossed the border, drove forty miles into that massive shithole, and found a suitable town to call home. "I heard the bitches here will treat an American like a keeng! I got the money, and their broke asses will do anything!" And so he thought. But little did he know, typical Incel flaw, he didn't consider other Americans had felt the same. So he got a room next store to more American Incels. And for some odd reason, they all looked alike. Chubby, receding hairlines, prescription eyeglasses, pale skin, polo shirts over beach shorts. And they were all wearing flip-flops.

The next night, he goes out on the town, less than a block away at a dive. A group of shady Hispanics conversing in their language gathered around a pool table, watching him waving those crispy bills sitting at the bar. A familiar tune fired up. The Pampered Incel knew the song very well. He stands and syncs with the melody of Macarena. Ugh. He's a failure at everything in life except that particular classic jiggle. He nailed it!




A girl no younger than 18 joined him. His intoxicated arrogance fueled liquid courage as he grabbed her waist. Immediately, she resisted and puked. That group became agitated watching this sad excuse of a man act brave. They later followed him out of the bar and kidnapped him. They'd figured he had money.

The Pampered Incel would be tortured and beaten for the next few days. He wouldn't tell them his mother's phone number because he had her phone and she was unavailable. Duh. They then asked about his father, but he had never met the man before. He was a stealthy conception. So they reminded him they needed ransom or they'll beat him to death but not before cutting his penis and balls off and shoving them down his faggot throat.

Finally, the Pampered Incel couldn't take any more. He cried like a big whiney bitch about injustices. He told them his whole life story of how difficult it was being privileged and getting everything he wanted except intimate love. He told them about his mother's death and how he stuffed her into a freezer so he could collect her monthly checks. He told them about that storm that compelled him to Meheco. Ugh. The Mexicans were shocked.

They happened to be good guys, after all. So they kept him tied up, stuffed him into their trunk, and drove to the border. They turned him over to authorities and conveyed the knowledge he told them.

Today, he's in prison, sharing a cell with three other inmates. He sleeps on the gray, cold hard floor when they're not beating and raping him.

The End.
 
Last edited:
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When I wrote this from the cold abyss of my heart, I thought of you all as my glassy black eyes welled with emotion.

black eyes demon GIF
 
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Every. Single. Word.
 
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Tales from chandinagar mental asylum
 
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Tales from chandinagar mental asylum
I instead see it as a conclusion of my analysis concerning an Incel's omega. Though they much rather reply, "The fuck you said nigga?" Smh. Smh. If only they knew the seat, I sit not far from that Overlord. It's a frolicking tango. Sorry, spoiler. And my delusional grandeur special ability role in this, um, clusterfuck is rather of concerning disturbance. It's as if I word to be troubling. Ah, yes. Poking the dragon with a stick. Indeed.

dodgeball flirting GIF
 
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Read every word.
 
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Link the reddit post you got this from btw
 
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Was interesting. Like a trainwreck.
Exactly. The dance part was the main event. Thus title. So this terrible aspie person's life slowly tears apart. Murphy's Law engaged. But when he does that dance—as if a scene cut out from a musical—peace and joy live in those few moments. Pre-2020 is that dance scene.
 
can’t remember the last time I saw a thread about looksmaxxing on this forum wtf have I just read
 
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6/10 replace incel with redditor it'll be funnier that way, trust me.
 
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can’t remember the last time I saw a thread about looksmaxxing on this forum wtf have I just read
It's the consequence of not looksmaxxing. Do you see the brainchild in this? Guys that don't looksmax suffer from a delusion of grandeur. They're conceited and feel exceptional. The way he would see a Stacy turning him down, "Ugh. Her lost." No. Her luck. Her blessing as to her eyes sees no lies. A walking lump of intellectual turd is but misery for any girl. What she sees is how her life will play out if she were to lend her heart to such a sad excuse of a man. Nature favors champions.
 
An Incel today is that dedicated arrogant gamer. He lives on the gaming network while video streaming his hideousness. He has a group of gaming buddies, and together they mock the cute guys on Twitch and fap to the hot girls emulating eating noises. At one time, he had besties. And even succeeded in turning a muscular hunter eyes into a fattie with his witty pizza challenges. "The one that can't eat two cheese lovers' pizzas with extra crust within an hour has to pay the group's Battle Pass for one month!"

But as time progressed, his friends connected with girls. Some even got married. Some had children. But not Mr. Pampered Incel. Ugh. Confusion fondled his self-conceited superiority. "Why girls won't accept me??"

He discovered
THE BLACKPILL, learned about Chads and Stacies, and blamed them for his shortcomings and impudence. He learned about lookism and accused his family's genetics. His dating app experience was even more troubling. The only girls that swiped right were poor Philippine men conning Americans with pictures of their sisters and mothers who, in reality, wouldn't touch the Incel with a ten-foot pole. Brutality teased the pussyless eyesore.

He'd tried an escort once, but it ended with a six foot six inched Tyrone pistol-whipping him because he disrespected his hoe's feelings when he attempted to shove his creepy finger inside her butthole after she'd warned him not to.

The Pampered Incel wearing week-old tighty whities sat behind his cluttered gaming desk, spurting contention on IncelMax. One night, he devised a clever scheme. "What if I turn my asshole into a money maker? That way, I can make enough crispy cash to pay for surgeries and become that Chad!" Ugh. Truth panged as he grabbed a belly fold and sighed. "Uh, poopers. What am I gonna do about this?" He pondered throughout the late hours while playing Grand Theft Auto: Pornhub Mod. Finally, a solution presented itself. "I got it! I'll get the most expensive gym membership and go one time and lose this weight!" Tiss-tiss-tiss.

The Pampered Incel failed to grasp the reality of a gym. The regulars are short-fused brutes and steroid-fueled raging bulls. And the girls, only Chads can view them. Ugh, boogers.

He paid for the platinum membership that got him a free t-shirt, water bottle, and a month's supply of whey protein. He entered the gym, chest pressed out, gazing at a 95-pound Stacy in tights. Her evident camel toe captured his attention. But he didn't understand that it wasn't for him to see. When she noticed this hideous overweight atrocity staring at her pussy, she rushed to Tank—a white six-foot-three guy covered in tattoos and hair. His eyes were bloodshot from iron annihilation. She whimpered about the Incel violating her reserved-for-Chad intimate area. Ugh. He was pissed! He hurried to the Incel, grabbed him by his shirt collar, dragged him out of the gym, and pushed him onto the dirty pavement. "If you ever step back into my realm and look at any girl, I will rip the intestines out from your belly and shove them up your faggot ass!"

Ugh. The Pampered Incel finally accepted his existence. Later that evening, he climbed into bed with his 70-year-old mother. But snapper crappers! She didn't move. She was cold and stiff. Ouchie-kamouchie! She had passed away. Oh, no. He depended on her retirement and social security funds. Then, thinking quickly, something he had learned from all those years of gaming, an idea unfurled. "The deep freezer!" Uh, creepy.

And so he dragged his loving mother into the utility room and packed her into that dark, cold crypt. But damn, it seemed Nature had other things on her mind. A severe thunderstorm had developed, alerting the community of a tornado warning. It was gonna be a doozy of a night.

The power went out. For the next hour, whistling, eerie sounds of gusty winds and metal clanging frightened the Pampered Incel as he took shelter inside a closet. He tried crawling under the bed, but ugh, that belly was too plumped. Then, suddenly, a crashing sound exploded from above. The closet rattled for a moment.

The following morning, he would discover a tree had fallen on the house and taken out half of that utility room. Also, a tornado devastated the power grid, and residents were told the electricity would be out for a while. He stepped to the wrecked utility room entrance and smelled a faint odor. "Two weeks, no electricity? Oh, fuck me." He panicked and grabbed every penny and piece of mom's jewelry, a bag of dirty clothes, and of course, his Playstation, TV, and gaming PC, and packed it into his Hyundai. He returned inside, retrieved his mother's debit and credit cards, and took off like a bat out of hell—final destination: Mexico.

A week later, he crossed the border, drove forty miles into that massive shithole, and found a suitable town to call home. "I heard the bitches here will treat an American like a keeng! I got the money, and their broke asses will do anything!" And so he thought. But little did he know, typical Incel flaw, he didn't consider other Americans had felt the same. So he got a room next store to more American Incels. And for some odd reason, they all looked alike. Chubby, receding hairlines, prescription eyeglasses, pale skin, polo shirts over beach shorts. And they were all wearing flip-flops.

The next night, he goes out on the town, less than a block away at a dive. A group of shady Hispanics conversing in their language gathered around a pool table, watching him waving those crispy bills sitting at the bar. A familiar tune fired up. The Pampered Incel knew the song very well. He stands and syncs with the melody of Macarena. Ugh. He's a failure at everything in life except that particular classic jiggle. He nailed it!




A girl no younger than 18 joined him. His intoxicated arrogance fueled liquid courage as he grabbed her waist. Immediately, she resisted and puked. That group became agitated watching this sad excuse of a man act brave. They later followed him out of the bar and kidnapped him. They'd figured he had money.

The Pampered Incel would be tortured and beaten for the next few days. He wouldn't tell them his mother's phone number because he had her phone and she was unavailable. Duh. They then asked about his father, but he had never met the man before. He was a stealthy conception. So they reminded him they needed ransom or they'll beat him to death but not before cutting his penis and balls off and shoving them down his faggot throat.

Finally, the Pampered Incel couldn't take any more. He cried like a big whiney bitch about injustices. He told them his whole life story of how difficult it was being privileged and getting everything he wanted except intimate love. He told them about his mother's death and how he stuffed her into a freezer so he could collect her monthly checks. He told them about that storm that compelled him to Meheco. Ugh. The Mexicans were shocked.

They happened to be good guys, after all. So they kept him tied up, stuffed him into their trunk, and drove to the border. They turned him over to authorities and conveyed the knowledge he told them.

Today, he's in prison, sharing a cell with three other inmates. He sleeps on the gray, cold hard floor when they're not beating and raping him.

The End.

That’s a danish rap song
 
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can’t remember the last time I saw a thread about looksmaxxing on this forum wtf have I just read
Literally just go to the looksmaxxing section lol
 
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An Incel today is that dedicated arrogant gamer. He lives on the gaming network while video streaming his hideousness. He has a group of gaming buddies, and together they mock the cute guys on Twitch and fap to the hot girls emulating eating noises. At one time, he had besties. And even succeeded in turning a muscular hunter eyes into a fattie with his witty pizza challenges. "The one that can't eat two cheese lovers' pizzas with extra crust within an hour has to pay the group's Battle Pass for one month!"

But as time progressed, his friends connected with girls. Some even got married. Some had children. But not Mr. Pampered Incel. Ugh. Confusion fondled his self-conceited superiority. "Why girls won't accept me??"

He discovered
THE BLACKPILL, learned about Chads and Stacies, and blamed them for his shortcomings and impudence. He learned about lookism and accused his family's genetics. His dating app experience was even more troubling. The only girls that swiped right were poor Philippine men conning Americans with pictures of their sisters and mothers who, in reality, wouldn't touch the Incel with a ten-foot pole. Brutality teased the pussyless eyesore.

He'd tried an escort once, but it ended with a six foot six inched Tyrone pistol-whipping him because he disrespected his hoe's feelings when he attempted to shove his creepy finger inside her butthole after she'd warned him not to.

The Pampered Incel wearing week-old tighty whities sat behind his cluttered gaming desk, spurting contention on IncelMax. One night, he devised a clever scheme. "What if I turn my asshole into a money maker? That way, I can make enough crispy cash to pay for surgeries and become that Chad!" Ugh. Truth panged as he grabbed a belly fold and sighed. "Uh, poopers. What am I gonna do about this?" He pondered throughout the late hours while playing Grand Theft Auto: Pornhub Mod. Finally, a solution presented itself. "I got it! I'll get the most expensive gym membership and go one time and lose this weight!" Tiss-tiss-tiss.

The Pampered Incel failed to grasp the reality of a gym. The regulars are short-fused brutes and steroid-fueled raging bulls. And the girls, only Chads can view them. Ugh, boogers.

He paid for the platinum membership that got him a free t-shirt, water bottle, and a month's supply of whey protein. He entered the gym, chest pressed out, gazing at a 95-pound Stacy in tights. Her evident camel toe captured his attention. But he didn't understand that it wasn't for him to see. When she noticed this hideous overweight atrocity staring at her pussy, she rushed to Tank—a white six-foot-three guy covered in tattoos and hair. His eyes were bloodshot from iron annihilation. She whimpered about the Incel violating her reserved-for-Chad intimate area. Ugh. He was pissed! He hurried to the Incel, grabbed him by his shirt collar, dragged him out of the gym, and pushed him onto the dirty pavement. "If you ever step back into my realm and look at any girl, I will rip the intestines out from your belly and shove them up your faggot ass!"

Ugh. The Pampered Incel finally accepted his existence. Later that evening, he climbed into bed with his 70-year-old mother. But snapper crappers! She didn't move. She was cold and stiff. Ouchie-kamouchie! She had passed away. Oh, no. He depended on her retirement and social security funds. Then, thinking quickly, something he had learned from all those years of gaming, an idea unfurled. "The deep freezer!" Uh, creepy.

And so he dragged his loving mother into the utility room and packed her into that dark, cold crypt. But damn, it seemed Nature had other things on her mind. A severe thunderstorm had developed, alerting the community of a tornado warning. It was gonna be a doozy of a night.

The power went out. For the next hour, whistling, eerie sounds of gusty winds and metal clanging frightened the Pampered Incel as he took shelter inside a closet. He tried crawling under the bed, but ugh, that belly was too plumped. Then, suddenly, a crashing sound exploded from above. The closet rattled for a moment.

The following morning, he would discover a tree had fallen on the house and taken out half of that utility room. Also, a tornado devastated the power grid, and residents were told the electricity would be out for a while. He stepped to the wrecked utility room entrance and smelled a faint odor. "Two weeks, no electricity? Oh, fuck me." He panicked and grabbed every penny and piece of mom's jewelry, a bag of dirty clothes, and of course, his Playstation, TV, and gaming PC, and packed it into his Hyundai. He returned inside, retrieved his mother's debit and credit cards, and took off like a bat out of hell—final destination: Mexico.

A week later, he crossed the border, drove forty miles into that massive shithole, and found a suitable town to call home. "I heard the bitches here will treat an American like a keeng! I got the money, and their broke asses will do anything!" And so he thought. But little did he know, typical Incel flaw, he didn't consider other Americans had felt the same. So he got a room next store to more American Incels. And for some odd reason, they all looked alike. Chubby, receding hairlines, prescription eyeglasses, pale skin, polo shirts over beach shorts. And they were all wearing flip-flops.

The next night, he goes out on the town, less than a block away at a dive. A group of shady Hispanics conversing in their language gathered around a pool table, watching him waving those crispy bills sitting at the bar. A familiar tune fired up. The Pampered Incel knew the song very well. He stands and syncs with the melody of Macarena. Ugh. He's a failure at everything in life except that particular classic jiggle. He nailed it!




A girl no younger than 18 joined him. His intoxicated arrogance fueled liquid courage as he grabbed her waist. Immediately, she resisted and puked. That group became agitated watching this sad excuse of a man act brave. They later followed him out of the bar and kidnapped him. They'd figured he had money.

The Pampered Incel would be tortured and beaten for the next few days. He wouldn't tell them his mother's phone number because he had her phone and she was unavailable. Duh. They then asked about his father, but he had never met the man before. He was a stealthy conception. So they reminded him they needed ransom or they'll beat him to death but not before cutting his penis and balls off and shoving them down his faggot throat.

Finally, the Pampered Incel couldn't take any more. He cried like a big whiney bitch about injustices. He told them his whole life story of how difficult it was being privileged and getting everything he wanted except intimate love. He told them about his mother's death and how he stuffed her into a freezer so he could collect her monthly checks. He told them about that storm that compelled him to Meheco. Ugh. The Mexicans were shocked.

They happened to be good guys, after all. So they kept him tied up, stuffed him into their trunk, and drove to the border. They turned him over to authorities and conveyed the knowledge he told them.

Today, he's in prison, sharing a cell with three other inmates. He sleeps on the gray, cold hard floor when they're not beating and raping him.

The End.

Tales from the computer banks.
 
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Tales from the computer banks.
Just sharing my observation and a random finale of how it ends when you live that life. Its best to retrain your mind. The common Incel is an asshole. Fact! And being that asshole without millions of dollars, ugh, doesn't look good. Doesn't look good. So they need to reprogram their mind and stop feeling exceptional and accept the things they can not change. Grasp the courage to change what they can. And the wisdom to acknowledge my big dick.
 
Just sharing my observation and a random finale of how it ends when you live that life. Its best to retrain your mind. The common Incel is an asshole. Fact! And being that asshole without millions of dollars, ugh, doesn't look good. Doesn't look good. So they need to reprogram their mind and stop feeling exceptional and accept the things they can not change. Grasp the courage to change what they can. And the wisdom to acknowledge my big dick.
According to your algorithms, what is the optimal solution to finding happiness?
 
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According to your algorithms, what is the optimal solution to finding happiness?
Ugh. Only one way. Getting into the best shape of your life. The perks will follow as long as you respect patience. HOWEVER. If you cheat, roids, speed, or whatever, expect a major rude awakening later. Thus a brutal finale.
 
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Ugh. Only one way. Getting into the best shape of your life. The perks will follow as long as you respect patience. HOWEVER. If you cheat, roids, speed, or whatever, expect a major rude awakening later. Thus a brutal finale.
How do you get into the best shape of your life?
 
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dnr-didntread.gif
 
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