There are snakes among us.
RageFuel This evil CuckTears bitch. Wow. Stay safe, boys.
Z
Raping is a social crime, but not objectively a moral wrong doing. I wouldn't ever condone it, but this girl can't debate or argue a point across.
I have noticed that cucktears will always bombard you with the most stupid questions. KEK.
Women cannot be incel, they cannot understand the pain of being single and having women reject you at every turn. They don't understand that we feel as undesirable, that no-one ever will love us, that we are forced to live a life entirely alone, devoid of validation, companionship, etc. All they have to do to obtain that is download an app. We can go to the gym for years, go to therapy, get a haircut, buy new clothes, have a good job, have money, and still be incel.
For women, a partner is an app and a message away.
For incels, a partner is available only in our minds, our imaginations.
For women, a partner is an app and a message away.
For incels, a partner is available only in our minds, our imaginations.
This, but nothing is objectively wrong or right.
And some females don't even realize how easy they have it. Women do not struggle in finding relationships, unless they're purposefully aiming for the best of the best.
"Rape fantasies are different"
No, shut the fuck up whore. You want to be raped but, by a handsome man.
No, shut the fuck up whore. You want to be raped but, by a handsome man.
AWALT
Back when I was still a student, I had a friend who went by the nickname "Malaria Joe". He earned the moniker subsequent to studying abroad in India for a summer. He disliked the side-effects of the prophylaxis prescribed to him; apparently they inspired vivid dreams of shaking hands with slabs of rotting meat. Eschewing the medication, well, he contracted malaria. Pissed black urine, nearly died and, when all was said and done, all he had to show for his survival was a morbid story and a nickname to go along with it.
Now, Malaria Joe was popular with the ladies. He was rail-thin, not particularly handsome, but had that sort of charm characteristic of men for whom every other inhalation accompanied the use of a bong. He was the slick, charming stoner girls adored. I didn't envy his drug habit, but as an ugly virgin, you can bet your soul I was jealous of the fact that there was not a single party he left alone. There was always a woman by his side and he never had to suffer the pain of waking up alone.
One evening he and I got into a conversation regarding women. I was drunk, he was high. My inhibitions had lowered to the point I was willing to ask questions and his to the point he was generous enough to provide answers. Sitting together on a stone bench beside the creek running through our small college town in the dead of a winter night, I asked him what it was like to have a woman whenever he wanted. It was something I could only dream of and can only still dream of, a decade and a half later.
Malaria Joe looked at me with bleary eyes, dull and bloodshot, and gave a surprisingly humble response. He spoke of all of the times he took a woman home, only to wake up the next morning horrified by the thing beside him. He recounted the numerous times a girl would ask him to go to breakfast the morning after their one-night-stand, forcing him to come up with some excuse why they couldn't because he was afraid his friends would see him with such a repulsive beast.
Well, he eventually found a lovely woman with a pretty face and a beautiful soul. That goes without saying, of course. Wicked men are always rewarded while kind monsters are inevitably punished. But what of all those pigs, those nauseating things he fucked in the dark of night and was ashamed to be seen with under the light of day?
When all is said and done, as an exceptionally ugly man, they'll never know the kind of pain reserved for things like me. They won't have to go down to the dead untouched and, when all is said and done, I suppose they'll have some parody of love to remember to comfort them as they rot in their graves.
On the other hand, I'll never have to endure the pain of someone I held close feeling ashamed to be seen beside me a couple of hours later. The ugliness of something like myself remains unequivocal, primordial, pristine. As painful as it is to endure a woman's look of disgust, at the very least I know she means it in earnest. As an ugly man, I go down to the dead unloved. So to do the ugly women that Malaria Joe fucked and cast aside, nothing but cheap sex-toys to amuse himself with until he found the pretty girl he could take pride in being seen with.
Males and females who belong to the tribe of human beings are distinct, and it's no different for the males and females who belong to the race of monsters. The male monster is ignored, hated, cast out. The female monster is used as a cheap toy destined to be fucked in shame and thrown away.
Make no mistake, I hate being a repulsive man. I'll resent the fact I have to go down to Hell as a virgin, never to hold a woman who wants to be held by me, until the day I'm once again dirt in the ground. Every prayer offered to both God and Nature will be a curse save for my last, in which I'll thank both for the tiniest kindness allotted to the truly ugly: if I had to be born repulsive, at the very least I was born as a repulsive man rather than as a repulsive woman.
"I may go down to Hell without ever being held, but at the very least I'll burn with my dignity intact."
A truly ugly man can say this.
Can a truly ugly woman do the same?
yep. snakes among us indeed
They got to you somehow?
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