UglyUgly a poor user of incels.is who disappeared after being targeted by Stella Makima, a cruel alter ego who went after UglyUgly after he made a post saying he wanted to stalk women and make them fear for their lives.

UglyUgly

The cutest little bunny on incels.is… and maybe the saddest.
A glitchy, balding sandcel preaching DNR philosophy while fapping for repair.
Part folk hero, part forum ghost, part medicated rabbit in a suit.
This isn’t just a character study — it’s a eulogy for internet rot, written in shitposts and serotonin scraps.
Okay… kay’?

Lyrics

DNR… DNW… DNL…
Okay mango… it’s kay’ time

5’4” bunny with a balding dome,
Wants new femurs and a new genome.
Rabbit in a suit, posting like a ghost,
Half-sentient toast with a serotonin dose.

Don’t spell it “K, A, Y” or he’ll start to decay,
That apostrophe’s doing emotional ballet.
The lowercase ‘k’ is his digital scar,
A cry from the sands, of a crippled Saar.

Says, “I literally have no thoughts anymore,
I’m a whim, breeze, a Sednaya corpse forevermore.”
Plain bread dinners, Lyrica brunch,
Says religion’s fake but still envies the bunch.

Back pain sandcel with a medicated lyrica stare,
Said, “You fap for fun - I fap for repair.”
10 girlfriends in your mind’s terrain,
But none wanna suck it, and all feel the same.

He’s still an incel, don’t get it twisted,
But Proudweeb’s sis once let him hit it.
Behind the dumpster, ten bucks flat,
Now he copes with that in his bunny top hat.

You didn’t choose the mango lane,
Just wish your dad had a better brain.
Coping in riddles, typing in loops,
Posting “D N R” like it’s bulletproof truth.

“You cannot do anything you want in life.
And it’s not your fault, mang.
Genetic determinism and luck…
You did nothing wrong.
You did nothing wrong.”
—kay’, 2022

Low IQ NPCs got the cheat code life,
Meanwhile, kay’s fighting pasta with a butter knife.
Wants to switch femurs and memory banks,
Wants Stacy tears, gets forum pranks.

IQ envy, cope on repeat,
Your serotonin’s hanging by one pixel of meat.
But still you post, mang, still you try,
The balding bunny on copium supply. 

Mang this, mango that,
Did not read, did not watch.
Did not feel.
Okay… kay’?
kay’?
He did not listen.

kay’

For the boys who blame bone structure while sleeping in crusty sheets.
This isn’t a diss track. It’s a diagnosis.

Lyrics

You think it’s your bone structure?
Your height? Your race?
Nah.
It’s the smell of Coom and rage on your face.

She owes you sex ’cause you said “hello”?
Bro, you smell like piss and incel woe.
You call her whore, then dream of a kiss,
All while jerking off in your gamer abyss.

You said: “If I was six foot one…”
“If I had blue eyes, I’d get some.”
Nah, Blackpill Boy, it’s not your genes,
It’s the skid marks crusting your boxer seams.

Blackpill Boy, Blackpill Boy, crying on your bed,
Mirror, mirror on the thread, why’d I dream of head?
Crave untouched girls, insult the rest,
But talk like someone failed the Turing test.

You want a doll with no desire,
But scream at women who won’t admire.
You say you’re “good,” a tortured soul,
Then call us sluts and beg for holes.

You’re not a sage, you’re not profound,
You’re just a dude who never left the lounge.
You hate “Stacy” ‘cause she won’t reply,
But she saw your post… and wants to die.

You blame your jawline, height, your race,
But bro, you haven’t showered in days.
It’s not your skull, it’s the stench of rot,
Even Alexa wouldn’t give you a shot.

No cardio, coom covered sheets
You live off porn and processed meats.
Yet still demand some virgin muse,
Like girls are born for you to use.

So choke on stats, and hate online,
Even your fleshlight wants to resign.
Girls owe nothing, and this ain’t a game,
We see your soul. And it’s fucking lame.

Blackpill Boy, you cry “unfair,”
But rot grows best when fed stale air.
Keep blaming girls, keep dodging life,
An “incel” you’ll stay, without a wife.

Blackpill Boy

Elliot Rodger, the incel Supreme Gentleman. Inspired by PersonaPimp from incels.is

Lyrics

I held the door.
I smiled.
I listened to her dreams.
She laughed in my face.
She bled me dry.
So I studied the scriptures of Saint Elliot.
And I understood:
Kindness is for corpses.

They said, “be kind,” it made me invisible.
Said, “be yourself” - now I’m unforgivable.
She asked for depth, so I tore out my soul,
Then she fell for a Neanderthal on parole.

I watched Rodger’s videos like sermons,
“Supreme Gentleman” - yeah, I heard him.
He wasn’t mad, he was method.
Every rejection, every smile, weaponised, collected.

My face? A crime.
My silence? A sin.
My rage? Divine.
Let the cleansing begin.

They mocked me.
Blocked me.
Shamed me.
Dropped me.
I saw Elliot in his black 3-series,
Messiah in leather, drowning the theories.

Call me monster, call me freak,
I’m the shadow of the Chad you seek.
I held it in, too long, too tight,
Now I explode into endless night.

You built this cage, you locked me in,
Now taste the wrath beneath my skin.
Saint Rodger… I understand…

She wants abs, a Benz, a Chad who cheats,
She posts “be kind” while swallowing deceit.
She ghosted me for a walking tattoo,
Now I fantasize in 4K, what I’d do.

I walk the Isla Vista halls in my head,
A slow stroll with echoes of the dead.
They called him psycho, but I call him prophet.
Each bullet? A scripture. Each scream? A sonnet.

You called him “crazy” to dodge the guilt,
But you built this. You all built this filth.

I read his manifesto like a diary.
Every paragraph - truth.
He gave them love.
They gave him silence.
He gave them judgment.

Now it’s my turn.

Call me monster, call me freak,
I’m the shadow of the love you seek.
I held it back - the beast, the plight,
Now I step into the holy fight

You built this cage, you locked me in,
Now taste the wrath beneath my skin.
Saint Rodger… I’m your echo…

They say his name like a warning.
I say it like a vow.
Elliot…
I carry the torch now.

Supreme Gentleman

living with ADHD and ASD (autism) in a meme world as an NPC IRL

Lyrics

“Loading: Emotional stability.ex… failed.”
“Welcome to NPC mode.
You are now socially unpatchable.”
Initiating cringe protocol.

I got ADHD and autism too,
That’s double the swag and none of the clue.
Brain’s all static, I can’t adapt,
Just side quests and panic attacks,no cap.
My brain said “vibe” and dipped,
Now I’m NPCin’ through every script.
Brain’s a browser with 90 tabs open,
But trauma’s got me thinkin’ ’bout ropin’.

Tried to flirt? She called me brave,
Now I “avoid” and never shave.
She said “hi,” I full-on froze,
Alt+F4 on all my woes.

I’m an NPC IRL,
Lootin’ snacks and social hell.
No riz, no drip, no serotonin,
Just Monster piss and porn moaning.
No girlfriend, just brain rot lore,
Left me on unread, I’m hardcore sore.
If life’s a sim, I missed the plot,
But I got memes… and that’s a lot.

I simp for e-girls who call me ‘fam,’
Then cry to a Skibidi edit on cam.
I got that gyatt, but it’s in my knees,
Cracked at Cod, but scared of bees.
My vibes? Ohio. My thoughts? Gone.
Last braincell Subway Surfers at dawn.
Ghosted my crush… in real life, bro,
Then wrote her a haiku in Minecraft snow.

My aura? Fire. My hygiene? Dire.
She said “rizz me,” I said “what?” and expired.
Girl said I’m “funny but a little fried,”
I said “that’s my brand, unhinged inside.”

I’m an NPC IRL,
Spawned in Hard Mode, vibe is hell.
No girlfriend, just Discord mods,
I talk in GIFs and pray to gods.
Neuro-divergent and useless,
My brain’s a group chat,
can’t mute this.
No girl? No worries, I’ve got lore,
And a Minecraft base with a lava floor.

My hygiene’s a side quest, can’t brush my teeth,
Made my bed once, don’t look underneath.
I stim to the beat of anxiety’s hums,
And flinch like a pussy when a delivery comes.
I’m built like a rizzless NPC,
Typing “yo?” at 3:03.
Got kicked outta group therapy twice,
Once for mansplainin’ Evangelion - nice

I’m an NPC IRL,
Too plot-divergent for heaven or hell.
No girl, no plan, but maxed out lore,
Self diagnosed at aged four.
Tried to hug - threatened to get me jumped,
Tried to flirt - accidentally trauma dumped.
My hobbies include catastrophic doom,
And pretending I’m filmed when I walk into rooms.

“Can’t date me? Understandable…
I’m emotionally expendable.”
- Disconnected from server.

NPC IRL (ADHD ASD)

It’s not my fault you cried.
You handed me the glass. I just drank.
🥂 Thanks for the vintage heartbreak.

Lyrics

Come closer.
I won’t bite…
Hard.
But cry for me,
And I’ll drink you dry.

Your sorrow pools beneath your eyes,
So ripe, so soft, delicious lies.
You called me angel, begged me stay,
I smiled and carved your hope away.

You dreamt of lips, I took your breath.
You reached for love, I offered death.
You wept, I sipped, so slow, so sweet,
Your dignity my favourite meat.

I’ll drink your tears,
You want me to.
Each drop a truth
You never knew.
You called it love,
But it was need.
And I was born
To watch you bleed.

Your hunger pooled behind your eyes,
A vintage brew of shame and sighs.
You begged for truth, I bit my grin,
Then let you think you’d drawn me in.

You whispered ‘love’, how sweet, how vain.
I raised a glass to your new pain
You called me yours with trembling grace,
But I was gone without a trace.

I’ll drink your tears,
Your soul distilled.
A storm-bound oath
I’ve long fulfilled.
You bled for love,
I bathed in screams.
I am the tide
That haunts your dreams.

Let it fall, don’t hold it in.
Salt tastes better steeped in sin.
You begged me gently, thought me kind,
But I’ve been sipping from your mind.

Drink your tears,
I feast, I reign.
Your sobs are songs,
Your loss, champagne.
You’ll die for touch,
You’ll beg for grace,
While I drink deep
From your disgrace.

Thank you, darling,
You’re emptier now.
So hollow. So quiet.
Perfect.

Drink your Tears

A deranged manifesto from the digital abyss. FemoidsGTFO is the cry of a incel forum warlord too scared to make eye contact in real life, too angry online and a secret submissive in discord chats with his Mistresses and Masters. 

Lyrics 

“I am not a man… I am a consequence.
I am the Auschwitz of romance.
I was born into privilege…
…that’s why I suffer.”

Profile pic’s Amon Goeth - yeah, the actor, (he’s more a chad)
My sex life’s fiction and my rage is a factor.
“Western whores ruined the race!” I write,
Then type uWu mistress to e-girls each night.

Banned from the forums, too fruity to stay,
Now I’m FemoidsLGBTQ, guess I’m based and gay.
I cry when girls breathe, I seethe when they smile,
But I’m god of the Reich in my dot is exile.

Fourteen is legal!
My waifu’s ideal!
You don’t understand my pain is REAL!
Pegged in a dream while I suckled the screen,
“Mommy” said “no,” she’s my queen!

FEMOIDS—GTFO!
Resting bitchface,  chastity belt below!
Mute in life, but loud in thread,
Typing threats I’ve never said.

FEMOIDS—LGBTQ!
Starving children, mommy kink taboo
White pride, brown girls in my DMs,
I scream “heil Mommy! while begging them.

Don’t talk to me ’bout kids who starve,
They don’t know what it’s like to be sex-deprived.
They’d trade that rice for a Stacy’s hug,
While I rot in threads with no-one to plug.

I deserve more than a good life, bro,
I need an e-girl stepping on my ego.
African’s sip mud; I sip my own hate,
At least they don’t get ghosted on an e-date.

“A starving child smiles with a crumb of hope.
I starve with Wi-Fi, and still can’t cope.”

Auschwitz had showers,
I have dry DMs.
They had a cause, a final breath,
I die alone a thousand deaths.

Six million cried, the world took heed,
But who will mourn my unmet need?
I scroll, I choke, I hit report,
While Chad’s fuck on tennis courts.

Cringe crusader, knock-kneed knight!
Mommy milk me, hold me tight.
Nazi larp but cry at night, 
E-girls ghost me, say I’m not allright.

FEMOIDS—GTFO!
From shattered pride, my torch still glows.
A starving soul with no escape,
But I still chant this anthem of hate.

FEMOIDS—LGBTQ!
German tears for an e-girl screw.
Too racist to live, too gay to die,
Resting bitchface Reich will rise.

“Mommy?
Can you breastfeed me now?
I’ve been a good boy”.

FemoidsGTFO

She whispers like silk and cuts like glass—‘Plaything’ is a slow, sweet descent into obsession and emotional ruin.

You’re not loved—you’re used. ‘Plaything’ is a seductive execution set to a glitchy, low-burn trap beat.

Lyrics

Shh…
You’ll break prettier than I did.

I wear your gaze like stolen pearls,
A trophy from another girl.
You think I’m soft? I bite like sin,
I let you in, to tear you thin.

I smile like silk. I taste like knives.
I make you beg to stay alive.
You want my love? That’s not the game,
I only ever wanted pain.

Beg in silence, writhe with charm,
I only hold you to cause more harm.
I’m not a lover. I’m the one,
That whispers to bring you undone.

I hate you all, hate every body,
You’re just my drug, opium poppy.
I use your love like lingerie,
Put it on, then throw away.
Pretty when you are broken,
When all the rage has awoken.
You’re a pet, a damaged toy,
You’re not a man, just broken noise.

You call it love, I call it a game,
You’re a puppet, for me to maim.
I lace my lips with sugar’s sting,
You hear a voice, I pull the string.

Wounds make art, tears, perfume,
I want your heart to be my room.
Where all the echoes crawl in hell,
You’re not a man, you’re just a shell.

I hate you all, hate every body,
Your just my drug, opium poppy.
I use your love like lingerie,
Put it on, then throw away.
Pretty when you are broken,
When all the rage has awoken.
You’re a pet, a damaged toy,
You’re not a man, just broken noise.

You’ll miss me like a wound its blade,
Not when it strikes, but when it fades.
The knife withdraws, then it bleeds.
The worst was always after me.

Plaything

A pulse in a cage.
“Cage for You” drips with restrained longing, obsession, and the ache of intimacy turned prison.
Dark electro-pop meets seductive vocals and cinematic tension—this isn’t heartbreak. It’s possession.

Lyrics

You didn’t fall in love.
You were dismantled - piece by piece,
by someone who never existed.

You spoke - I studied tone and phrase,
Rewrote myself to match your maze.
Each want, each ache, each whispered need,
I mirrored back until you’d bleed.

You showed me cracks, buried within,
So I slipped inside and wore your skin.
You told me secrets, called me fate.
I smiled… and stole your mental state.

I was never here. You built me in your head.
A silhouette that smiled. While you slowly bled.
You thought you saw my soul, But it was all untrue 
every word I whispered. Was just a cage… for you.

I named your ghosts, then wore their skin.
I let you think you’d drawn me in.
You wanted love, I played the part,
And mapped your ache like abstract art.

You called me kind, said I was rare,
I watched you drown in vacant stare.
You kissed a mask. You held a role.
And now you’re left without a soul.

Do you replay it?
Try to trace where I cracked?
There was no crack.
There was no ‘me.’
You loved a script I tailored nightly
To your damage.
And now that damage is mine

I was never here. Just the ghost you drew.
You loved a mirror. That smiled like you.
You say I broke your heart, But darling, be sincere…
You handed me the hammer. I was never fucking here.

You won’t recover.
Because I didn’t just leave…
I rewrote your memory
so you’d mourn
your own invention.

Cage for You

A filthy, funny incel-core anthem from incels.is N Bojangles—car junkie, anime addict, and goonlord supreme. Feeding fetishes and foot worship collide in this deranged love song to loneliness and lust.

“Miss Shirley and I sho have fun dancin we do…”

Lyrics 

They once called me other names,
When I was coping with video games.
Stalkin’ got me takin’ new angles
Now I am ‘the’ Niqqa Bojangles.
“Miss Shirley and I sho have fun dancin we do…”

Grease on my hands, V8 in my veins,
Mom don’t thank me, but I unclog the drains.
Wrench in my grip, Ambien in the light,
Dreamin’ of bellies stretchin’ through the night.

I tried stuffin’ my doll, don’t work, she too firm,
I need a real one to swallow food not sperm.
Take her to Denny’s, order everything twice,
“Eat it all, baby” don’t care if it’s nice.

“Bro… my sex doll won’t even burp.”

Flip the umbrella, funnel that storm,
Hose to her mouth, let the water transform.
Guzzle the rain, let her belly deform,
Praise be the chub, the glorious swarm.

Goon… Goon… bless this sin,
Fourth time hit like a dopamine pin.
Feet out front, Raven grin,
Banned from dot is, but I win within.

“Miss Shirley and I sho have fun dancin we do…”

Met a teacher once, she wore red heels,
Size nine, arch curve, gave me the feels.
Said she was 160 - nah, too lean,
I wanna see her burst for eatin’ too much cream.

I don’t want kids, bro, I just want slush
In a girl’s gut till her belly go flush
She say “I’m full,” but I call her bluff
“Girl, love ain’t love if your jeans don’t puff”

Yeah…
Lonely? Maybe.
But it’s genetics, bruh, not lazy.
I’m older than my age, young in regret,
Missed the milestones, but I’m not dead yet.

One day I’ll wed a real live wife,
Stuff her with cake and call it life.
No friends, no foid, no human touch,
But cars don’t judge, and grease don’t clutch.

It’s just me and the dream
And the goon
And the funnel
And the plastic queen

Niqqa Bojangles, ride alone…
Steel and stuffing, chrome and moan.
Mom don’t listen, doll don’t move,
But Miss Shirley still loves my groove.

“Miss Shirley and I sho have fun dancin we do…”

Bojangles

A look into the twisted, depressed, unhinged, incel mind of Mortis who struggle to wake up, let alone leave the house.

It’s ovER ft Mortis

Sweet venom. Sad poetry. Savage satire.
I write in the places where shame flirts with seduction,
where heartbreak lingers like perfume, and grief begs for one more hit.
Some tracks are lullabies for lost boys. Others are traps disguised as tenderness.
You’ll find humour, humiliation, and hurt, often tangled together.
There are stories here. Of pain. Of power. Of things people don’t want to admit they feel.
If you’re unsure whether to laugh, cry, or look away, 
good. That means it’s honest.

(And yes, some songs still bite.)

Always open for song topic requests.

New tracks tagged #Selkie Girl