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America Is A People, Not An Idea

Jan 18th, 2018 by

There can never be too many pimp slaps administered to traitorous, cowardly Galactic UberPhag LindsGAY GAYham’s slap-able gayface. Tucker backhands Graham a good one, here.

Keep the heat on these cucks. They deserve every publicly humiliating beatdown coming their way until they slink off into the 9th circle hellscape waiting for them where their lies and malignancy and treachery won’t infect America.

The “American Exceptionalism” era of delusion is over; the Blood and Soil America era is beginning (again, as the Founders intended). A great comment from anonymouslee:

I don’t know why we don’t more often point out the absolutely definitive evidence against “muh Constitution” arguments:

the worst shitholes, however you want to choose them from the Soviet Union to the failed states of Africa to the genocidal warmongers of Europe, have fantastic constitutions. Any country you hate, just name it and find a perfectly nice sounding Constitution.

We are a people. The Constitution is something we decided to put on paper to better organize the government which exists to serve us, the nation. Not the other way around.

The Constitution didn’t write us, we wrote the Constitution. (hat tip to Malcolm Little for getting me down to one line)

Something else we should point out is that rhetoric about how people are not really people paves the way for attempts at genocide. No people, no crime. Case closed!

Emphasis mine. The People are the Paper. The Paper is not the People. Change the People, and irrevocably the interpretation of the Paper changes to suit the disposition of the replacement People. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot, cuck, or lying shyster.

***

On the topic of Realtalk Rebels taking it to the corrupt, sclerotic, anti-White male establishment, here’s a vid of Jordan Peterson shellacking a dumbstruck feminist cunt.

The race by the Chaimstream Media to censor (by commission or omission) and shut down dissident voices is evidence of their fear. Not fear that they’re losing; rather, fear that they have ALREADY LOST and now they’re scrambling to keep the angry mob from tossing them on the spikes lining their gated communities. Institutional Leftoids tamp down so hard on dissident thought criminals because they KNOW that if they lose this war the revenge exacted on them will be epic.

***

Not entirely OT: The only polling outfit you should trust is Rasmussen. They were closest to accurately calling the 2016 presidential election up to a week before Election Day. The rest of the polls are rigged in any number of ways to artificially boost Trump’s negatives or shrink his favorability numbers. Last I checked, Rasmussen had Trump at 46% favorability. Keep that in mind, because there’s been a daily drumbeat of leftoid media orgs pushing the narrative of Trump’s “historically low favorability” using the same polling outfits that were badly wrong all the way through 2016.

It’s as if the Narrative gatekeepers live in a bubble and don’t think Americans are paying attention to their perfidy and lying scumbaggery.

***

Speaking of the loathsome and self-discrediting Chaimstream Media, do the screechy mouthpieces employed to safeguard the Narrative have any idea that their hysterical remote psychological diagnoses of Trump’s mental health are ripped straight from the pages of Stalin’s playbook? Our elite have never been more malevolent or historically ignorant. BAD COMBO

Posted in Da Goyim Know, Hope and Change, Pretty Lies, Ugly Truths, Videos | 211 Comments »

It Takes A Black Woman…

Jan 17th, 2018 by

White women always react the same way to a bothersome kneegr0 beggar: with deference, patience, and finally sorrowful apology for not coughing up enough dough.

Black women react differently: they completely ignore him or give him lip for not minding his own business.

Black women know how to handle their black men.

There’s a lesson there for earnest shitlib White women. #NotLikeUs

Posted in Culture, Girls, The Big City Life, Ugly Truths | 140 Comments »

When The Strip Club Experience Stops Being Sexy

Jan 17th, 2018 by

A comment from Tiberius that had me chuckling,

The strip clubs around here are more circus than anything. We went to one on a friends birthday. The hottest one had only one arm. She dragged the birthday boy up on stage, ripped the elastic out of his underwear, took his belt, wound it tight around her stub and whooped his ass with it. I’ve never seen anything more surreal in my life. I do not get boners recalling this experience.

I’ll take a wild guess which region in the US this “Weird Americana” titty bar is located: West Texas.

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Girls, The Pleasure Principle | 99 Comments »

The Scent Of Ripe Sex

Jan 17th, 2018 by

A male friend a few years older than me once took me to a high end strip club. It was my first time at a house of ill repute, and I was underage (but of age in the way that mattered). He knew one of the club’s employees and arranged a deal to sneak me in with him through an alleyway entrance.

I’ll never forget the sounds, sights, and….smell….of that experience. They linger today. Blood red light, thrashing heavy metal, and riotous naked pussy assaulted me. I popped a stiffy before we had taken our seats at a table in the back, to my relief cloaked in cranny dimness.

I had by then notched some innocent quality time with Real World girls, but never had exposure to raw, unbridled female sexuality until that field trip with a buddy I would go on to admire for many years afterward as my chaperone to a parallel pooniverse told in tales of thigh adventure.

I remember my friend had informed me the strippers were “just north of jailbait”. Which meant all the girls were older than me, by a few years. We gawked for a while — rather, I gawked, he pretended to soak it in like a seasoned viewer — and then he slipped a twenty in my hand.

“Should I get change?”

“No, that’s for the lap dance you’re getting.”

He motioned to an unearthly beauty with jet black hair framing cum-white skin. She glided over to us on a cloud of estrogen. Her body was perfection to match her face. Slender hourglass figure, levitating tits, and a pert ass. I guessed she was 18 years old. And a hard 10. They exist.

She and my friend exchanged some words, then she smiled at me, performed a lissome posterior chain maneuver that drew her face and body nearer mine, and her hands pried open my legs. Standing in my manspread zone, she unbuttoned her leather miniskirt. It shimmied unceremoniously to the ground (very smooth, I thought to myself), revealing black panty and….was I seeing right?….a rolling hillock of peekaboo vulva adorned with villous springtime fluff. She lifted the elastic on one side of her panty and pulled my moneyed hand toward the pleasure portal; I slipped the twenty in and made sure the second knuckle of my middle finger got some before she closed the gate.

She was unusually practiced at her art for a girl who shouldn’t have been at this line of work for longer than a year. Gracefully and with a patina of eagerness that I had hoped was sincere, she crossed my southern border and gyrated and twisted and grazed and rubbed and pressed and ground……but the sensation that would grab my hindbrain by the reins and steer it to a catatonia I have found hard to replicate in the time since was the sensation that entered through my nose.

Her aroma. It emanated most powerfully from a moist place, a fog bank, a source of life, and more subtly from every square inch of her body. It was the Engineer’s goo if the goo was pink and smelt of a thousand roses and the richest peat. That scent…I can recall it in an instant, and still it stuns me. Later, reflecting on it in the wisdom of my adulthood, I would realize it was the scent of ripe sex. Of a woman in her fertile prime whose sole purpose in this world was to be inseminated by a warrior poet and birth the next generation. Her natural perfume wasn’t of the material world; it was a divinely endowed advertisement that she was laden with a full basket of the freshest eggs.

I would likewise realize that no matter how many women one has bedded, loved, lost, or loved again, there will be nothing that comes later which can precisely capture the stupefaction and delight of that first sniff of a hard 10’s maximally fecund fragrance. It’s like a first love; you’ll love again, but occasionally your heartthoughts will drift to that sun-dappled sweet sixteen siren, a memory unblemished by life’s inevitable compromises.

There have been moments since when I’ve caught whiff of a similar scent, and I remembered it fondly — as one would the surprising intrusion of an odor that recalled grandma’s kitchen — and every association would come flooding back, filling empty neural nooks with lust. But you can’t go all the way back. The past is unsullied precisely because it exists in a magnified amber constructed of sensation, newness, and promise. Pussy #30, however sweet-smelling, can’t hit with the limbic force of Pussy #1. No shame in that ladies, just don’t expect the same invulnerable adoration from a man when you’re his Thirtieth Act.

***

I had met a girl a couple months after that trip to the strip club, and I was so relaxed around her she mentioned it to me with a hint of annoyance. “Are you always like this with girls? So…calm?”, she had suspiciously inquired. No, I had replied, hoping to allay her, only with you, because you’re easy to talk to.

Lie. I was relaxed because I had smelled the scent of God, and the girl sitting with me was an aromatic mortal in comparison.

Posted in The Pleasure Principle | 118 Comments »

The Main Reason Women Despise Niceguys

Jan 16th, 2018 by

Because niceguys excuse women’s shitholistic behavior.

There will always be an urge in people (not just couples therapists and marriage counselors, although they are more prone to experiencing the urge) to relieve women of and burden men with responsibility and accountability. This is a consequence of the Fundamental Premise, which states that eggs, being pricey, add value to the vessel which houses them, and therefore that vessel commands deference and apologia from all social and institutional forces.

The feminist complaint of an oppressive patriarchy that puts women under the jackboot of men is literally the opposite of reality, but we should not be surprised by feminist delusion because it’s also in the nature of women to ignore their advantages and to focus on those perceived injustices that insufficiently coddle them to a torrential splooge.

On female unaccountability, @TrevorGoodchild notes the connection to Game and the modren dating market,

Women are also more attracted to men who hold them to account, and are actively repelled by betas that give them a free pass (they’ll still take the freebie, though)….

This may be one of the clearest definitions of Game and sexual market dynamics I’ve read outside of my own very stable genius scribblings. What kind of men hold women to account? Jerkboys. What kind of men absolve women of personal responsibility? Niceguys. Women love the former, and hold the latter in contempt.

Women don’t want a toady, regardless of any claims to the contrary. Women want a challenge. A man who will call them out on their shit. And jerkboys are the men who will give them that thrill.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Girls, Rules of Manhood, Ugly Truths | 127 Comments »

The Tattooed Slut Is A Redundancy

Jan 16th, 2018 by

2007: From the CH post “She eats her peas one at a time“:

Does she have a large trashy tattoo anywhere near an erogenous zone?

Slut.

2017: From ¡SCIENCE!:

We collect numerous measures of time preferences and impulsivity of tattooed and non-tattooed subjects and find broad-ranging and robust evidence that those with tattoos, especially visible ones, are more short-sighted and impulsive than the non-tattooed.

Tattoos are therefore a slut tell, because sluts are short-sighted and impulsive. A girl who’s impulsive in one domain is sure as Bartholin’s life-giving lube to be impulsive in other domains. And the more visible her tattoo, the more likely that hipsteress you have your eye on will go up to your apartment on the first date, let you finger fuck her mouth, give you a blowjob, and then complain about feeling “uncomfortable” in a long-winded solipsistic article written for “The Babe” or whatever menstrual rag is the current pit stop for butthurt feminists lamenting their inability to be wined and dined like the chaste ladies they aren’t.

The ThotTat life trajectory:
age 18-25: slut tell. easy lay, bring condom
age 26-35: cuck tell. she’ll cheat, bring paternity test
age 36-45: crazy cat lady tell, bring deodorizer
age 46-: sexual worthlessness. who cares about her saggy tats?

Future tradvaj to repopulate the lands with remnant based Whites will have clear, unscarred skin from head to toe, and the LoveLord who undresses her unpolluted body will draw a breath as the beauty of her unbroken porcelain wrapping turns his bachelor pad into a bioluminescent breeding ground.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Rules of Manhood, Sluts | 90 Comments »

More Non Sequitur Game

Jan 16th, 2018 by

Non Sequitur Game — a valuable Chateau addition to the pickup oeuvre —  is a tributary of text Game that, with minor adjustment, can be ported to IRL social interaction, with similar results: female intrigue and curiosity, two states of gine which necessarily precede sex.

Non sequitur game is mystery bait. An odd word or fragmented sentence is like an eight ball to her head hamster — the little rodent will snort it right up and spend the next hour spinning frantically trying to figure out what you were saying, or — *squeal with delight* — whether it was meant for another girl.

I’ve done the accidental non sequitur text to girls, and come to think of it they did text back immediately, asking me to clarify. It’s a superbly sneaky tactic to trick a girl to chase you.

Some other truncated non sequitur game examples:

“see you at”

“leaving” (this one will trigger her threat of loss anxiety)

“we’ll see”

“wow!”

“cocka”

A similar version of non sequitur game is reverse eavesdropping game (REG). This is where you send a text to a girl that has nothing to do with her and is clearly not meant for her, thus inducing her to “eavesdrop” on your putatively private conversation. The REG text should be constructed such that it hints at your high value and/or social proof. Something like “bring the chips and i’ll get the booze. it’s gonna be crazy.”

Reader Mutant Seven passes along another type of non sequitur game — the gibberish hamster pellet. Pay close attention to the girl’s reaction.

One, she replied. Two, she didn’t say no.

So you’re saying I have a chance!

M7 adds,

This one has had me laughing all weekend long. Chicks just don’t get non-sequiturs or absurdity. It doesn’t compute. It’s abstract. It doesn’t correlate with their mundane, pragmatic concerns.  But they have difficulty leaving it alone as well because it’s mysterious. It draws them in by its very indefiniteness, its portent of profundity. Wasn’t it you who discussed this as useful game technique?

Daddy gib gamies.

Non Sequitur Game benefits the man using it as well as the woman receiving it. If you are uncertain of a woman’s reaction to your solicitation, or if you are tongue-tied and can’t summon your characteristic wit to close the deal, then just dump an absurdity in the grill’s cuntbox. She’ll be hooked like a fish, and you buy yourself a little breathing room to regain your composure, confidence, and, most importantly, your INVISIBLE HAND OF SEDUCTION. The Chad non sequitur will ALWAYS be better than the try-hard, sweated-out Virgin reply. Bonus gamies: Nothing reinvigorates a flagging convo by opening new and untrammeled lines of communication quite like a bizarre or sneakily allusive non sequitur.

CH Maxim #59: The less it looks like you’re trying, the harder the girl will try to figure you out.

***

vanbrah comments,

I once texted a girl “thanks” then followed up with “oops wrong person” Four days later I go to pick her up from her house. Within the first five minutes she asks me who I was texting. I felt bad for her poor hamster. Poor thing must have been exhausted.

I guarantee that girl was thinking about vanbrah’s retraction text during all four of those days, and well into her four sleepless nights.

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Game | 34 Comments »

Your Daily Sad

Jan 16th, 2018 by

Being the only fat white girl at a party……and getting hit on by the only black guy at the party. LAYERS OF SADNESS

(then she goes home alone and tumblrrheas about her awesome dating life and how she has to beat the HOT SEXY IMPLICITLY WHITE men off with a stick (of butter)) META-SAD

Posted in Hungry Hungry Hippos | 54 Comments »

MeToo-ism And The Criminalization Of Romance

Jan 15th, 2018 by

A great comment by SebastianX1/9 over at Sailer’s blog, musing about the Me Too, Please sex panic and its end game,

You are watching the real-time abolition of romantic love and courtship, to be replaced with mediated social media. Unmediated human interaction is being fazed out. They mean to abolish physical reality and the possibility of talking in person. Flirtation, romance, banter, charm, poise, casual human interaction – all of these things have been diminished.

I have a lot more to say on this subject, but for now take a moment to think about the path to anhedonic hell our culture is determined to travel, and why it has come to be at this point of history that love is under attack from the very forces which claim the mantle of love.

Posted in Attention Whore of the Month, Culture, Dating, Escape, Girls, Goodbye America | 224 Comments »

The Whitelash Is Coming

Jan 14th, 2018 by

There’s a reason the Maul-Right calls them Generation Zyklon. The Whitelash is coming, and it’ll be glorious, (assuming current trends are indicative of future results, which I think they will be, because normally White kids at that age are extremely and stupidly kumbaya liberal, so for them to be so strongly pro-Trump is a powerful cue that they are instinctually repulsed by their parents’ and grandparents’ self-cucking universalism).

When Gen Z WHITE GIRLS support the Anti-Shithole President by over a 2-to-1 margin, you know something beautiful and clarifying and dangerous to the elitist old order is barreling toward us, to deliver a reckoning of historical proportion. The only question left is whether the transformation portended by Gen Z will arrive in time, before the shitholization of America has metastasized and neutered Gen Z’s electoral power. If The Darkening outpaces the Whitelash, then all bets are off. A competent and pissed off White people won’t go quietly into that electoral irrelevancy night.

More evidence of the Zyklonic Tonic:

PS I believe both of these graphics are from Audacious Epigone, but I couldn’t find the links. If a commenter would supply them, I’ll add them to this post.

Posted in Hope and Change, Love | 183 Comments »

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