Incels are experts at projection; this much is, I think, obvious. Projecting all their shortcomings on external influences, onto the Women they claim to hate but still obsess over...it's pathetic. It's all so very transparent; while you may be able to keep up this facade when the sun is up, as soon as the deafening, lonely silence of night falls, your mind starts to spin. The truth starts to haunt you. And there's only one way you want that truth spelled out for you. Allow Me—a hairy-pitted, pink-haired queer feminist—to hold up a mirror. Take a good, hard look at yourself and try to come to terms with the cold, hard truth: YOU are the problem. Try as you might to fight it, you know it's true! Otherwise, you wouldn't be paying to hear Me say it, and your unfuckable cock wouldn't be unbearably hard. It's time to face yourself, incel. The viewer is assumed to be a man with a penis.