The best solution to inceldom? Good question, and a very pressing one considering that the souls and sanity of every man posting here depends upon the answer.
Well, I have no definitive answer and I wouldn't be down in this place were it otherwise. Yet, I have my suspicions and, as a monster deferring to a god, I suppose I'll paraphrase him, albeit roughly.
"The only remedy for the incel's misery would never to have been born and, failing that, dying immediately after having taken his very first breath."
I'm butchering the wisdom of Silenus, tutor of Lord Dionysus, of course. Pudgy old Silenus, ancient when one of Zeus' sons was nothing more than an infant, was abducted by the King of Lydia. Greedy Midas, just as voraciously hungry for knowledge as he was for wealth, tortured and interrogated the old satyr attempting to beat some spark of light from the hobbled deity bright and warm enough to dissipate the veil of tears that separates the realm of gods from that of mortals. Brutalized and beaten, ravaged and raped, the vagrant god Silenus wryly smiled at Midas and granted his wish, uttering with blood-stained lips the truth that both gods and men know but only the former are willing to fully acknowledge without succumbing to despair:
"For mortal men it's best to never have been born. The next best thing would be to die quickly."
An incel, which is to say an abomination so repulsive no woman could possibly desire him, is lower beneath the station of a mortal man than aforementioned mortal is beneath that of a god. Human beings, absurdly flawed things that they are, still participate in Nature's passion play to some extent. I'm honest enough to admit it's a nasty, brutish affair for them. They endure sickness, loneliness, infidelity and poverty. Sometimes their wives are struck down by the ravages of illness and their children die while still in the womb. But as compensation, paltry though it may be, they at the very least know what it is to fall asleep with someone in their arms, to have warm smile meet their own rather some severe frown or look of disgust. Hearing the wisdom of Silenus, they can close their eyes, stop their ears and take solace in whatever memories they glimpse behind their eyelids. A tiny guttering spark can be nurtured into one's personal sun, bright enough to illumine the cosmos as long as he's permitted or, more properly speaking, compelled to inhabit it.
The incel is bereft of even that pathetic luxury, isn't he? For the truly repulsive man, there's no flickering light in the darkness, no pale will o' wisp to juggle upon his knuckles in a desperate attempt to warm the frigid shadow cast by death. There's no clever slight of hand or sly misdirection to distract him from Silenus' sadistic grin or taunting words.
If Silenus told a king among mortals it was best to die quickly, how do you think he would have advised monsters such as ourselves for whom even the erotic reminiscences of a beggar, thief, batterer or killer are an impossibility?
