It’s a rare occurrence when a photograph is the kernel behind a post on Social Extinction. Sure, there is that ever-expanding (sadly, alarmingly) plethora of meme posts, but I don’t consider those posts in the same vein because there is little prose. The typical meme post is about the snapshot, and little else. I have nothing to lend to the image, and like all good memes, nothing needs to be said. The meme phenomenon is one which speaks for itself with little augmentation from human writers required, or desired.
My meme posts therefore are not to be considered “normal” posts. Most of my posts, like 99.7% of them, are instigated by an idea, a thought, an experience, an event, outside the purview of readers. So when a photograph comes along that strikes me as something metaphorical and symbolic of a concept that I’m driven to write about, I consider this a rare event.
And today’s rare event is this photograph I spied earlier.
Now, for some reason, the deviancy and absurdity of the dog humping the not-so-eager sow made me think of the plight of young Incels everywhere.
For, I too, when younger, before it had a name, was a fledgling Incel. I will write more about that in another Incel Chronicles post, but for the purposes of this post, I’d like to simply say that I, Socially Extinct, was well on my way to Incelhood throughout most of the 1980’s, a period which equates to my late teens into my late 20’s.
The image of a dog humping a pig does not strike me as desperate, or hard up.
It strikes me as horridly immoral and vile. The dog’s instinctive mounting drive, so strong and resolute, knows no boundaries of species or futility, but still the drive must be realized, unabated in the face of reason and anatomical genetics. There is refusal to recognize naturally evolved limits to the animal’s innate urge to procreate. This is immoral, if dogs can be accused of being “immoral,” a whole discussion in itself.
I think back to my own elemental Incel stage of life which was eventually halted and spurned when I was about 26. The reason, the impetus behind my refusal to sublimate myself to a lifetime of pathetic, hopeless celibacy?
Why, immorality, of course.
I’m a very immoral person, but I believe I was even more immoral when younger. My immorality has matured, tempered, mellowed. My immorality is weathered and no longer robust, and in its frayed absence I now possess greater measures of morality which have thankfully stepped in and rescued my soul from perdition.
Ultimately, I believe too many of today’s Incels are battered by ineffectual levels of immorality.
Immorality is the key…the exit path whereby these young men may finally discover escape and a sense of sordid fulfillment, however distorted it may be. Incels are too moral. Excessive morality, perhaps heroic and virtuous in most respects, will do a young man no favors in his haste to manifest his manhood.