When I first met Daniel, wow, I felt alive for the first time. Thinning hair. No job. Manically promising he was going to start working out tomorrow, but then sleeping in after a long night of masturbating. Frankly, I was shocked someone hadn’t already snatched up this once in a lifetime catch. So imagine my surprise when I found out he was a militant virgin who’d made me up on Reddit.
Now, I don’t blame him, or I should say, I’m incapable of blaming him. The world isn’t made for people like Daniel, who aren’t conventionally handsome, or conventionally confident, or conventionally not dead inside.
Look, sometimes people just need to sign onto r/incel, 4chan or incels.me, and spend weeks at a time desperately trying to convince @FuckFace and @DeadSlut that they’ve got a girlfriend. And not one of those shallow femoids either, who only care about money, looks, and basic human decency. Nope, this girlfriend knows real men don’t play by society’s rules. Or shower.
I kind of respect the whole incel thing, actually. If the world gives you lemons, you need to systematically destroy those lemons for not fucking you. That’s just common sense. But what happens when you and the man who made you up while watching Elliot Rogers videos on YouTube start to grow apart?
Like most things, I blame feminism. Women’s “lookism” discrimination has left men held to an unfair standard, and that’s just wrong. Looks aren’t that important, ladies. Creepy mouth breathers still deserve to fuck Stacys like me, with big lips, big boobs, a fat ass, a good dye job, and a pretty face. Yeah, that’s the most important thing. A pretty face. Like a 9 out of 10, minimum.
Now, I know what you’re saying. You’re just a figment of a delusional virgin’s imagination, with no consciousness or autonomy, so why should we care what you think, you dumb slut? Well, you’re right, you shouldn’t.
But hear me out, I’m not like those shallow, evil hobags, who only want rich Chads with muscles and money. Just because I’m a stacked blonde, (well, I think I was a brunette too at one point, and he did once refer to me as Hispanic for a few days) doesn’t mean I’m predictable.
Some of us ladies like our men weak and angry. Seriously, name one legitimately nice guy who isn’t a bad day away from opening fire in a mall parking lot? That’s called the dating world, gals.
Here’s what you just don’t get, and I do. Relationships with men like Daniel are a dream come true. You should try it. I could even give you Daniel’s phone number.
With him, the romance never stops. We spend every night in. Most days too. Lots of sultry chatroom time, and then there’s the pacing. I love the pacing.
We’ve got cute nicknames for each other. I call him “master.” He calls me “vapid whore,” or “pig woman.” And it’s not like he doesn’t think about self-improvement. He’s constantly threatening to kill himself if he loses one more strand of hair.
But things have started to change lately. He’s spent days upon days pursuing plastic surgery boards, reading up on penis stretching, scalp botox, calf implants, nostril shrinking, and skull shaving. Should I be worried he’s secretly turning into a sexy Chad?
Because, I’m sorry, but that’s not what I signed up for when he made me up on Reddit to convince complete strangers that he wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. I like my boyfriend just the way he is, a red-pilled reject who thinks Joe Rogan is a modern day Socrates.
So, my question is, are we growing apart? Is that possible? Who’s even writing this? All I know is, I can’t remember the last time we sat around the dinner table for 12 hours straight, smoking packs of cigarettes and ranting about getting even, and I’m worried we never will again. Help!