Fever Dream of an Incel

Alfy Maroney appeared abruptly before a restless studio audience on exceptionally shaky knees. And though without recollection of ever arriving at center stage, such matters were of little importance to him now.

A handsome, well-dressed man suddenly emerged with clean-shaven confidence from the wings. He transitioned downstage before taking an apparent cue from a producer and somehow forcing an unforced smile. Then he stared with an almost telepathic charm into a studio camera and remarked with infectious enthusiasm, “Welcome back! I’m your host, Chad Armstrong, and you’re watching Woo or Cry.” There was a brief applause break, and then he added, “This next contestant comes to us from a little town called Sunspot, Pennsylvania. He likes playing video games, watching live streams of other people playing video games, and altogether avoiding the beach. So, ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Alfy Maroney!”

The room went dark until- a few dramatic seconds later- a spotlight illuminated the pale-skinned, red-haired, and slightly built Alfy. He not only knew he would be throwing up any minute but was utterly clueless as to what exactly was expected of him. Nevertheless, ten silent seconds passed before he could take the tense awkwardness no longer. And so, suddenly realizing he was holding a microphone, Alfy brought it impractically close to his mouth and informed the crowd, “My name is Alfy Moroney. And unlike most worthless and arrogant men that women give their love and affection to, I’m a true gentleman. I mean, so what if I wasn’t born super tall or good-looking. I’m actually like really talented at a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” shouted a particularly unimpressed audience member. “Boring a room?”

“That’s not funny!” Alfy bitterly yelled in return. He promptly began pacing back and forth and breathing heavily into the microphone.

“Funnier than you’ll ever be!” another audience member shouted.

Alfy sat down on stage, dejectedly hiding his face between his knees. He then tightly hugged his legs to his chest and rocked self-soothingly back and forth.

“Jesus Christ!” shouted a third audience member in extreme disgust. “How pathetic.”

Finally deciding enough was enough, Alfy indignantly rose to his feet, intending to defend himself. However, he quickly discovered his microphone had been shut off and gave the idea up.

The lights came back on, and Chad returned onstage and stood alongside Alfy. “I’ve got to tell you,” he said into a functioning microphone, reaching over and resting a comforting hand on Alfy’s far shoulder, “the last time I witnessed a trainwreck like that, I literally witnessed a train wreck.” Chad paused for a spirited fit of laughter before abruptly continuing with poised professionalism, “Alright, judges, I’m sure this audience can’t wait to hear what you have got to say about Alfy.”

A trio of female judges sat just off stage, facing the same way as the audience. Stacey Looker spoke first. “Alfy, darling, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t share an elevator with you if you were the last man alive. Frankly, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to stomach dinner tonight after suffering through that sad excuse for a performance.”

“Thank you, Stacie,” said Chad in flirtatious awe. “ I’m not sure Jesus Christ could have put it any better himself. Alright, Becky Booker, your turn.”

Becky smiled with unabashed superiority, eventually uttering, “Alfy, Alfy, Alfy, what are we ever going to do with you? I mean, you’re not the least bit attractive, amusing, intelligent, interesting, or wealthy. It would be an act of profound pity to call you the physical manifestation of all womankind’s worst nightmare.”

“Wow, Becky,” said Chad. “For a second there, I thought you might actually say something cruel.”

Alfy made a sudden attempt to sprint off stage, but Chad effortlessly caught him by the shirttail. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said like a father relishing a chance to prove a point. “We still have one very special judge left to hear from.”

“For the love of God,” said Alfy, his sad eyes desperately begging. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“Don’t worry,” said Chad reassuringly. “This last judge should be more sympathetic to your incredibly long and repulsive list of faults.” He gave the third judge a nod.

“Accepting reality can be so very painful,” Alfy’s mother suddenly said. “And well, Alfy, you may be my son, but you’re the most sickening individual I’ve ever been around. And I’ve been around a lot, if you know what I mean.”

“Ladies and gentleman,” said Chad, moving his hand gently over Alfy’s back to encourage more heaving sobs for the camera, “this may be hard to believe, but Alfy Maroney just made Woo or Cry history! He is, in fact, the first contestant in our over forty-year history to be outright rejected by their own mother!”

Alfy rushed off stage sobbing inconsolably. Moments later, he returned wielding what looked like an automatic rifle. He then squeezed the trigger and maniacally fanned the barrel back and forth between Chad, Stacy, Becky, and his mother. It became almost immediately apparent, however, that his gun was absent any bullets.

Having never flinched, Chad smiled and said, “And there you have it, folks. A complete failure, yet again completely failing.”

Alfy broke on stage, crying harder than ever until his mother shouted, “Come on, Alfy! Hurry the hell up and get your worthless ass off the stage. You’re embarrassing me.”

Alfy woke up around mid-afternoon, sweating profusely. He then draped a thick black blanket over his only bedroom window, going to great lengths to ensure no sunlight might leak through. Finally, he sat with immense relief in a comfortable chair, turned on his computer, and commenced playing a violent video game.