You will never be a real Chad. You have no symmetry, you have no chin projection, you have no ramus. You are a sub5 manlet twisted by copes and surgery into a crude mockery of biology’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out genetic failures with incredible efficiency. Even incels who “looksmaxx” look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk girl home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she sees your 4 inch dick.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself foids suck anyway, 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, happy and relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a childhood picture of you, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a sub5 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 incel.
This is your fate. This is what genetics chose. There is no turning back.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Women are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed women to sniff out genetic failures with incredible efficiency. Even incels who “looksmaxx” look uncanny and unnatural to a woman. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk girl home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she sees your 4 inch dick.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself foids suck anyway, 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, happy and relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a childhood picture of you, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a sub5 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 incel.
This is your fate. This is what genetics chose. There is no turning back.
