You can’t stand those weak beta bitches who throw themselves at women, submitting to their every whim, making complete fools of themselves. That will never be you. You have job in tech, you work out, you hang out with your friends all the time. It has always been bros before hoes, but that doesn’t keep you from updating your hinge profile every time they take a relatively okay photo of you. You just got some new tats that cost more than a used car so of course you have to show off, in your Arcteryx gear no less. The beanie stays on during sex.

There isn’t a beta bone in your body. You’re all man, 100%, or so you tell yourself when you take you 900th post shower mirror selfie. You never wear a shirt because why would you? You need the world to see your gains lest they forget you snort pre workout twice a day. Hobbies? Hot people have hobbies so obviously you’re the best at all of them. You have to be or else you lose interest. You will not be seen to fail. Not in this lifetime.

You’re so great you’re just too good to even date. It’s why the few times you’ve matched with anyone on dating apps they always ignore you after the first few replies. It’s not supposed to be this way so to soothe your wounded ego you leave anyone on read as often as you can, destroying any chance at a real connection. You’re too above taking beautiful women out to nice dinners, so you sit around in your jizz scented sleeping dungeon, nary a piece of decor in sight. Interior design is for betas and you relish in nothingness, empty like your soul.

You deny yourself of all the best things in life for no other reason than your inability to see that you don’t deserve them. You don’t put in the personal work to improve because you refuse to see any need to. You’re perfect in your eyes and anyone who doesn’t want you is fucking stupid, and yet you refuse to acknowledge that your phone is dry as fuck and women want nothing to do with you. When was the last time you went on a second date? You can’t remember. The first ones are always so truncated, your date always having some emergency she needs to tend to before the food even arrives. Clearly nothing to do with you.

You hate the men who get doted on for worshipping the women they love because you can’t get women to pay attention to you at all. Every night you dream about running away—but from what? Yourself and all the shit decisions you’ve made in your life, especially the ones that have led you to being this way: less than a beta bitch and echelons below the men who live the life you truly want.