The Adventures of Incel Kyle and Chad Stan
Chapter 2: Wendy is a total Stacy
Kyle sits in the car, waiting for Stan. He’s got his legs propped up on the dashboard, and he’s not sure why Stan wanted to drop by Wendy’s house today but it’s been fifteen minutes and this time definitely could’ve been spent better.
They better not be fucking. Kyle thinks maybe he could forgive Stan for getting some poontang, but he can’t forgive Wendy. She was supposed to come with them, down to Stark’s Pond, but something’s come between. Kyle said something about her feeding homeless kids, born from a bunch of chads getting it on with Kenny’s neighbors. Hell, maybe they’re Kenny’s own kids, Kyle wouldn’t be surprised. Kenny, although a total beta, can get all the pussy he wants. He fucking reeks of pot and sweat, but maybe that’s what the fembots are into nowadays. Kyle wouldn’t put it past them, honestly. Maybe it’s because Kenny’s got a total mangina, but there’s no way Kyle’s going to stoop *that* low. He’d rather be an incel than develop issues like Stan did when he quit eating meat.
Anyway–he’s pretty sure Wendy’s only trying to poison the poor rats, anyway. Not that they really deserve it, but that’s the kind of thing a feminazi would do, exterminating all the bad shit in the world. Kyle knows that Wendy has been using more subtle war techniques aimed at him, digs and jabs below the belt about his supposed homosexuality, his supposed obsession with Stan. He can’t entirely help it, Stan is the most perfect example of a chad Kyle has met in his life. Kyle just feels that, being best friends with Stan, Stan’s ways should have rubbed off on him (no homo, of course). They haven’t, and he’s left the victim of his looks.
Kyle pulls his ushanka down over his ears. Wendy’s such a bitch, anyway. She’s well aware of other fembots’ proclivity to flirt with Stan. He could have all of them, but Wendy won’t let him, like the controlling feminazi she is. She acts like she’s all lovey-dovey but there are times Stan gets hard in the car with just Kyle because Wendy had a headache and wouldn’t let him fuck her. It’s such bullshit, she’s a female in a relationship. She is meant to service Stan whenever he wants her to–fuck, she’s his cumbucket isn’t she?
Stan comes out of the house soon after. He’s looking upset, and the irony of the situation is not beyond Kyle. Stan’s upset a lot after seeing Wendy, almost like she’s making him join cry-parties instead of engaging in sex, which he’s pretty sure is a feminazi thing. Stan crawls behind the wheel and slams the door of the car closed, driving off without saying a word. He doesn’t even look back at the house. His face is pale and his eyes red, and Kyle sets aside his pride to ask Stan, “What’s wrong?”
Stan shakes his head, but there are tears. Man, Kyle hopes Stan ate enough meat last week, he doesn’t want to see him turn into a giant pussy again. “Wendy broke up with me,” he says, and then the tears are falling. Maybe it’s a chad thing, but Stan looks good even while crying. Kyle pats his back. No homo, of course.
“Man, what the fuck,” Kyle says. “Or no fuck. What I mean is, she can’t fucking do this to you!”
Stan looks at him through wet eyelashes. He looks like a puppy, not a chad. If you look past his strong jawline, of course, and his wide chest, and his nipples perky under his shirt; his boobs are bigger than most girls Kyle knows, which gives rise to several intense emotions he suppresses most of the time.
“But well, at least you don’t have to be an incel,” Kyle continues in an attempt to make Stan feel better. “Like, you can find a different girl to fuck tomorrow, right?”
Stan doesn’t say anything, he just drives them to the pond. It’s not too busy, there are a couple of fembots in bikinis but most of them look unappealing. Like beached whales, or blobs of mayonnaise on the dirty soil they call a beach. Kyle wonders if he would do better in California, where the girls are hotter and the weather is too, and maybe his intelligence would be appreciated more.
He rolls his eyes at Stan and gets out, pulling off shirt and wading into the water in his sandals, because there’s no fucking way he is going to touch the bottom feeders of Stark’s Pond with his bare toes.
He’s pretty sure Stan wanted to ask him for a hug, but that’s too homo for Kyle, especially in public. Especially when the fembots swimming flock towards Stan while they ignore Kyle–it’s not like he can help it that he reflects the sunlight off his ugly body like one of those Twilight Vampires (though fuck, they should be into that, right? that’s still a thing?).
He dives into the pond, allowing himself to be swallowed up by all the water, and wonders how it could have been that his life has come to this. Maybe he should give up on his fear of becoming a manlet and build some muscle. Maybe that would help. At least in the murky water, nobody but the fishes can see his tears.
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