Look, I get it, man. We talkin' real street-level shit, raw fuckin' emotion and pain—and then you got these dudebros tryna make it palatable for brunch tables. All dolled up in Warby Parkers and $200 kicks. Talkin 'bout 'incel' like it's some fuckin' term of art instead of the pathetic whimpering it is. Fuck that. Incel culture is as natural as a festering abscess, and trying to dress it up is like puttin lipstick on a pig. And y'all wonder why everyone looks at you sideways—no, make that disgusted—when you try to serve up their broken dreams with an artisanal aioli. Get off the fuckin' internet and go live for once.