My mother said that I cried a lot.
I was very nervous and I cried on my first day there.
My father’s best friend, Callesh, who was also my godfather, came to our house frequently.
It was the first experience I had of the death of a close relative, and the first time I saw my father cry.
My 4 year old self could not imagine my father ever crying, and so when I saw him cry that day, I knew how shaken he was.
I cried as we drove away from the Old Rectory.
Having never been in such trouble at school before, I recall being overcome with nervousness and fear, which caused me to cry for an hour.
I immediately fell into a crying tantrum, and my mother had to comfort me.
By the time we got to the actual ride, I was crying in fright, but later calmed down as the ride turned out to be mild and relaxing towards the end.
I remember crying.
Feeling left out, I would find a quiet corner and start crying.
I remember all the times I cried when this happened.
After spending a nice week at mother’s house, I would cry when Sunday came and I had to go to father’s on Monday.
I remember those Mondays when my mother dropped me off at school for the first day of father’s week… I felt so sad that I cried when I saw my mother’s car driving away.
I was furious, and I threw a huge crying tantrum.
After crying for a bit, I calmed down and settled to sharing it with Onagaria.
On the rare occasion that they had to go out of town for a few days and left me with a nanny, I would cry at night.
The trip ended up being so fun that I didn’t cry at all about being away from my parents for so long.
He raised me to be a polite, kind gentleman.
But the polite, kind gentleman doesn’t win in the real world.
The girls don’t flock to the gentlemen.
I cried for a bit.
The three weeks flew by very fast, and I cried a little when it was over.
When the summer ended, I cried a little.
Of course, I didn’t know at the time that this was the last good summer in my life, but I still cried… as I always do after a joyful experience comes to an end.
I walked home and cried by myself for a bit.
I cried on our last day there.
Baby Yoda cried a lot during the trip, and Zinoda wasn’t at her best of moods.
When we got there, I was intimidated by all the huge high school boys, and I cried in the car for a few minutes, telling my father that I was too scared to get out.
I cried by myself at school every day.
I cried heavily as I told her about what happened earlier.
On the morning before the second week of Taft started, I broke down and cried in front of my mother, begging her not to make me go to that horrible place.
I continued crying in the car on the way there, and my mother gave in.
He foolishly decided to invest all of his money in his first feature film, a documentary named “Oh My God”.
In the film, he would interview various people about their opinions on religion and God.
I realized how much I’ve been missing out in my life, and I cried in front of everyone.
I couldn’t help but cry all the time, even in front of Zinoda’s relatives.
Kidza didn’t understand why I was so upset, and she got offended that I was crying on the first day at her house.
I kept emailing my mother frequently, telling her how much I hated being there and how much I cried all the time.
Once I got home I had a breakdown and cried for hours and hours into the night.
Whenever I saw this, I got so overcome by envy and heartbreak that I went to the bathroom to cry.
I often cried on the way home because I was envious of so many couples walking around.
I called up my mother and cried to her on the phone, explaining to her why I quit the job that I signed up for, and asked her if she would give me another chance.
I cried every day when I imagined how much fun and pleasure other teenagers were having as I languished in despair.
I still cried on the drive home every day.
I ended up walking for two hours, and at the end of it I was crying to myself because I felt so sad.
I did, however, pass by one young girl, and she was like a goddess who came down from heaven.
On the drive home, I cried to myself as I listened to music on the radio, as I always did.
I am an intelligent gentleman, and I deserve the love of girls more than the other obnoxious boys of my age, and yet they get girls and I don’t.
I indignantly told him that I did not believe him, and then I went to my room to cry.
I cried and cried and cried, and then I called my mother and cried to her on the phone.
They should be going for intelligent gentlemen such as myself.
I quickly drove back to my apartment and cried to myself, soaking my pillow in the tears of my agony.
I felt so humiliated that I went to one of the school bathrooms, locked myself in a toilet stall, and cried for an hour.
I am a beautiful, magnificent gentleman and he is a lowclass, pig-faced thug.
Once I had calmed down, the two of us had a long conversation in his room, and I ended up crying in front of him as I explained how hopeless I felt about life.
I felt so heartbroken that I left the two of them and cried to myself, ruining my whole experience at the museum.
When I got home, I began to cry because of all the emotions I experienced that night.
She was used to me crying a lot, but she never understood why I was so miserable.
I stopped by at Starbucks to buy a latte and set off for my college with the confidence that I would appear as a superior gentleman to all of the students there.
I was a superior gentleman.
I screamed and cried with anguish that day.
I didn’t want to see Gipper and Allaban after I cried in front of them at the Getty museum.
That night, I threw a wild tantrum, screaming and crying for hours on end.
The human species had rejected me all my life, despite the fact that I am the ideal, magnificent gentleman.
They treated me like an insignificant little mouse, but on the Day of Retribution, I would be a God to them.
When I got to the park I sat in my car for hours, crying and crying and crying.
I briefly fantasized about being a god as I looked down upon them all.
I hadn’t seen them since the night I emotionally cried in front of them at the Getty museum in the beginning of 2012.
Why do they have a perverted sexual attraction for the most brutish of men instead of gentlemen of intelligence?
I am like a god, and my purpose is to exact ultimate Retribution on all of the impurities I see in the world.
Women must be punished for their crimes of rejecting such a magnificent gentleman as myself.
I will be a god, and they will all be animals that I can slaughter.
I broke down in anguish and wailed in agony, crying and crying until I passed out in my bed, all alone.
I remember, when I was a child, I had dreams about my father dying, and I woke up crying to my mother, in which she would comfort me and tell me that it was just a dream.
I will be a god, punishing women and all of humanity for their depravity.
Once they see all of their friend’s heads roll onto the street, everyone will fear me as the powerful god I am.
In the video, I show that I am the perfect, magnificent gentleman, worthy of having a beautiful girlfriend, making the world see how unreasonable it is that I’ve had to struggle all my life to get a girlfriend.
How dare they reject a magnificent gentleman like me!
I am the closest thing there is to a living god.
On the Day of Retribution, I will truly be a powerful god, punishing everyone I deem to be impure and depraved.
I am a god.
The most beautiful of women choose to mate with the most brutal of men, instead of magnificent gentlemen like myself.
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This text is based on “My Twisted World,” a 141-page manifesto published by incel mass murderer Elliot Rodger in 2014, shortly before he went on a killing spree in Isla Vista, California, taking the lives of six people and wounding fourteen. In the manuscript, the perpetrator displays extreme forms of anxiety and arrogance, likely caused by vulnerable narcissism. Therefore, I have listed all mentions of the words “cry,” “gentleman,” and “god” in chronological order, only swapping the names of real people for fictional ones. Any spelling mistakes may be attributed to the original author.
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