Despite my advanced age, I’m happy to report that a few weeks ago, I learned something new. I was on the Book of Faces and someone referred to a type of individual who describes himself as an “incel.”
“What,” I asked myself, “is an ‘incel,’ pray tell?”
Well, dear readers of The Z Review, I am delighted to report to you my findings. An “incel” is an “involuntary celibate.”
What does this mean in English? It means that nobody will fuck them, but rather than look in the mirror and see what they might change about their physical appearance, attitude or less tangible qualities, they decide that celibacy is a condition thrust upon them from without by their femmy-lezzy oppressors, who will only be satisfied by taking up meat cleavers and chopping off their cocks.
The term also seems to imply that sans feminist oppression, they would be merrily accruing sexual conquest after sexual conquest, carving notches in the bedpost twice, thrice, four times an hour, until their man seed has been rightfully deposited in every vagina across this great land, as their Y chromosomes entitle them.
Now, good readers of The Z Review, I can’t say I’m much of a feminist. I watch too much porn, for one thing, and not the tender, soft-focus, “couples” type of porn either. I also think that men who call themselves “feminists” need to stop doing so, because it’s smarmy and dishonest.
Men can call themselves “women’s allies,” provided they put their money where their mouth is and back it up with action. But ladies, when you meet a man and he calls himself a “feminist,” that is your red flag clue that he wants to fuck you.
It’s also your red flag that he thinks you’re stupid and shallow enough to fuck him solely by virtue of seeming woke. But when he’s done, rest assured, he’ll leave you there to wipe up the wet spot with an Andrea Dworkin book.
Despite my reluctance to call myself a feminist, it’s easy to see that unless you’re trapped in a rock crevice like James Franco in that movie where he saws his arm off, there is nothing “involuntary” about your celibacy. If you want to get laid, you need to bring something to the table. That’s right, gentlemen, you have to make them actually want to fuck you.
Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be your physical appearance that does it. Have you considered having a personality that makes people want to be around you? Have you considered building a genuine connection with another person? Even simply being funny has been known to yield results on occasion.
If all that fails, you can always do what Patsy recommended to Eddie on “Absolutely Fabulous” when her lack of sex became dire – pay. That’s right, just stroll over to the entrance of the Holland Tunnel and engage in some commerce. They’ll take care of your involuntary celibacy in less than the amount of time it takes to comb the potato chip residue out of your neckbeard.
But unless you have something to offer another person that makes her want to be around you and take things to the next level, she’s not going to fuck you, and she never had to in the first place.
I bring this whole thing up because I saw some stories about the White Supremacist march in Charlottesville today, which has already turned into the expected shit show of boneheaded violence and thuggery.
This march is what you get when you have a group of people who have been taught for many, many centuries that they’re special, that they’re better than everybody and that they should just be handed everything they want without even expressing it verbally. Once you put up the slightest bit of resistance to this mindset with such triggering statements as “black people can go to this school that Governor Wallace is attempting to obstruct,” they lose their shit and start rioting.
The “incel” mindset is exactly the same. The male stranglehold on power has been breached, and men can no longer just assume they have everything coming to them. Women might say “no.”
Rather than respond to that by asking themselves, “What can I do to make myself more attractive?” the “incel” decides there’s a global conspiracy to oppress him, because he’s so interesting. I guess it’s easier to assume you’re the victim of a global conspiracy to deny you vaginal access than it is to sniff your own pits and deal with the fact that you smell bad.