In the chaotic digital world of Incels.is, where rejection and heartache were the bread and butter of everyday discussions, there was a particularly mischievous user known as Chidambaram. Hailing from Canada also known as India 2.0, Chidambaram firmly believed that his heritage was the sole reason for his lack of success in the romance department. Each day, he would retell the forum tales of rejection that the forum had heard from him a million times before, while simultaneously plotting his next grand scheme to turn his luck around. ”I will not give up this easily” Chidambaram thought to himself. ”I will ascend. No matter what it takes.”
One fateful evening, as the forum was buzzing with the usual banter, Chidambaram decided it was time to spice things up—quite literally. “What if,” he typed eagerly, “I host a ‘Curry Night’ for all the foids in my area? Nothing says ‘I’m a catch’ like a delicious plate of butter chicken!”
The other users, intrigued, began responding in their typical sardonic fashion. Was he actually being serious? Does he actually think he can score some pussy by serving women some butter chicken?
One user replied, “You think women will flock to you for some tikka masala? Foids are Chad only, some curry dish isn’t going to save you buddy boyo.”
Undeterred, Chidambaram decided to put his plan into action. He crafted an open invitation on Facebook for a “Curry Night,” complete with vibrant graphics and enticing descriptions of his culinary prowess. He promised a lot, and he also intended to deliver. It was a tall order, but Chidambaram wasn’t one to go down spinning. He even included a photo of himself with a giant pot of curry, grinning from ear to ear.
”The foids can’t resist my delicious butter chicken” he murmured under his breath. ”I’ll charm their socks off. Maybe I’ll score a chubby white Becky.”
“Dinner at my place!” he posted on Facebook. “Free food, good vibes, and me trying not to burn my kitchen down! What more could a foid ask for?”
Chidambaram pressed on. He even crafted a special dish for the occasion: “Curry & Compliments.” He figured he could serve the foids a delightful meal and throw in an endless stream of simping and compliments. “What could go wrong?” he thought, brimming with confidence. ”Foids love a good oofy doofy.”
As the night of the Curry Night arrived, Chidambaram frantically prepared in his kitchen, which, let’s be honest, looked more like a battle zone. Spices covered the counters like confetti, spatulas and knives were spready everywhere - and the aroma of simmering curry wafted through the air. He was convinced that this would finally be the moment his charm would shine through. ”Bitches love curry! They just haven’t tasted mine, so they don’t know it yet.”
When the doorbell rang, he opened the door to find not one but three curious foids. “Welcome to Curry Night!” he announced cheerfully, trying to sound casual while also trying to hide the chaos behind him. “I hope you’re ready for an unforgettable luncheon!”
As they stepped inside, the foids were greeted by a sight that could only be described as a culinary horror show. Curry was bubbling over on the stove, and a smoke alarm began to beep like a particularly annoying metronome. The foids took a look at each other, unsettling Chidambaram.
“Oh no, that’s just the ambiance!” he laughed nervously, waving his hands. “Adds to the experience! Its like the streets of my native India, somewhat chaotic, but it feels like home!”
One of the foids tried to contain her laughter, but it escaped her.
Undeterred, Chidambaram decided to roll with the punches. “Would you like to hear a compliment while we wait? I’m pretty good at simping, even if I do say so myself” ,launching into a long tirade about how the foids were “more beautiful than the great and glorious Taj Mahal.” They giggled, appreciating the sentiment, but Chidambaram could tell he was losing ground as they exchanged amused glances.
Just then, disaster struck like lightning. In his attempt to impress the foids, he attempted a flamboyant maneuver with a spoon, only to fling a blob of curry directly onto the wall. “Ah, a modern masterpiece! Like abstract art!” he exclaimed, trying to salvage the moment. “I call it ‘Curry Confusion’!”
The foids erupted into laughter, and while they could barely keep a straight face, he realized he had stumbled upon the secret ingredient to his charm: humor. The more he embraced the chaos, the more the foids seemed to enjoy themselves.
As the evening continued, Chidambaram shared his infamous rejection stories in an attempt to seem more oofy doofy to the foids, each story more ridiculous than the last. He regaled them with tales of how he once tried to impress a girl at a festival by doing the “traditional Indian dance,” which ended with him tripping over his own feet and landing in a pile of cow dung.
“I guess you could say I really fell for her!” he chuckled, and the foids roared with laughter, enjoying his self-deprecating humor.
By the end of the night, Chidambaram’s kitchen may have been a disaster zone, but his charm had worked wonders. The foids had a blast, and as they prepared to leave, they promised to return for more “Curry Chaos” in the future. Chidambaram had won them over.
As they stepped outside, one of the foids turned to him and said, “You know, Chidambaram, maybe it’s not your heritage that’s the problem like you claim. You just need to embrace who you are—quirks and all! And you’re pretty cute too!”
As the door closed, Chidambaram turned towards the kitchen with a big victorious smile on his face. The kitchen looked messy, but his mind was clear. He was more optimistic than he had ever been in his life. Maybe this is a start for something better. A new hope.
One fateful evening, as the forum was buzzing with the usual banter, Chidambaram decided it was time to spice things up—quite literally. “What if,” he typed eagerly, “I host a ‘Curry Night’ for all the foids in my area? Nothing says ‘I’m a catch’ like a delicious plate of butter chicken!”
The other users, intrigued, began responding in their typical sardonic fashion. Was he actually being serious? Does he actually think he can score some pussy by serving women some butter chicken?
One user replied, “You think women will flock to you for some tikka masala? Foids are Chad only, some curry dish isn’t going to save you buddy boyo.”
Undeterred, Chidambaram decided to put his plan into action. He crafted an open invitation on Facebook for a “Curry Night,” complete with vibrant graphics and enticing descriptions of his culinary prowess. He promised a lot, and he also intended to deliver. It was a tall order, but Chidambaram wasn’t one to go down spinning. He even included a photo of himself with a giant pot of curry, grinning from ear to ear.
”The foids can’t resist my delicious butter chicken” he murmured under his breath. ”I’ll charm their socks off. Maybe I’ll score a chubby white Becky.”
“Dinner at my place!” he posted on Facebook. “Free food, good vibes, and me trying not to burn my kitchen down! What more could a foid ask for?”
Chidambaram pressed on. He even crafted a special dish for the occasion: “Curry & Compliments.” He figured he could serve the foids a delightful meal and throw in an endless stream of simping and compliments. “What could go wrong?” he thought, brimming with confidence. ”Foids love a good oofy doofy.”
As the night of the Curry Night arrived, Chidambaram frantically prepared in his kitchen, which, let’s be honest, looked more like a battle zone. Spices covered the counters like confetti, spatulas and knives were spready everywhere - and the aroma of simmering curry wafted through the air. He was convinced that this would finally be the moment his charm would shine through. ”Bitches love curry! They just haven’t tasted mine, so they don’t know it yet.”
When the doorbell rang, he opened the door to find not one but three curious foids. “Welcome to Curry Night!” he announced cheerfully, trying to sound casual while also trying to hide the chaos behind him. “I hope you’re ready for an unforgettable luncheon!”
As they stepped inside, the foids were greeted by a sight that could only be described as a culinary horror show. Curry was bubbling over on the stove, and a smoke alarm began to beep like a particularly annoying metronome. The foids took a look at each other, unsettling Chidambaram.
“Oh no, that’s just the ambiance!” he laughed nervously, waving his hands. “Adds to the experience! Its like the streets of my native India, somewhat chaotic, but it feels like home!”
One of the foids tried to contain her laughter, but it escaped her.
Undeterred, Chidambaram decided to roll with the punches. “Would you like to hear a compliment while we wait? I’m pretty good at simping, even if I do say so myself” ,launching into a long tirade about how the foids were “more beautiful than the great and glorious Taj Mahal.” They giggled, appreciating the sentiment, but Chidambaram could tell he was losing ground as they exchanged amused glances.
Just then, disaster struck like lightning. In his attempt to impress the foids, he attempted a flamboyant maneuver with a spoon, only to fling a blob of curry directly onto the wall. “Ah, a modern masterpiece! Like abstract art!” he exclaimed, trying to salvage the moment. “I call it ‘Curry Confusion’!”
The foids erupted into laughter, and while they could barely keep a straight face, he realized he had stumbled upon the secret ingredient to his charm: humor. The more he embraced the chaos, the more the foids seemed to enjoy themselves.
As the evening continued, Chidambaram shared his infamous rejection stories in an attempt to seem more oofy doofy to the foids, each story more ridiculous than the last. He regaled them with tales of how he once tried to impress a girl at a festival by doing the “traditional Indian dance,” which ended with him tripping over his own feet and landing in a pile of cow dung.
“I guess you could say I really fell for her!” he chuckled, and the foids roared with laughter, enjoying his self-deprecating humor.
By the end of the night, Chidambaram’s kitchen may have been a disaster zone, but his charm had worked wonders. The foids had a blast, and as they prepared to leave, they promised to return for more “Curry Chaos” in the future. Chidambaram had won them over.
As they stepped outside, one of the foids turned to him and said, “You know, Chidambaram, maybe it’s not your heritage that’s the problem like you claim. You just need to embrace who you are—quirks and all! And you’re pretty cute too!”
As the door closed, Chidambaram turned towards the kitchen with a big victorious smile on his face. The kitchen looked messy, but his mind was clear. He was more optimistic than he had ever been in his life. Maybe this is a start for something better. A new hope.
