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Meet a girl, charm a girl, love a girl. Beautiful, you found a soulmate. But, there will come a time, sooner than you’d like, when a girl will want something “more” out of her relationship with you. That “more” can be gifts, giving up your skeet shooting hobby, moving in together, or, usually, marriage. If you’re dating a green card whore lovely foreign girl overstaying her visa, (say, an au pair), “more” means cold hard cash to pay her immigration lawyer.

There’s a simple solution to this problem. Enjoy your time banging that cute foreigner, and when she thinks you’re putty in her hands and feels brave enough to ask you for money, walk.

WALK.

It’s a wonder more men don’t avail themselves of this option. All it requires is the confidence to know that replacement pussy is within easy reach.

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Mattress Girl Made A Porno

Emma Sulkowicz, that psychocunt NB4 who lied about being raped and still carries on as if her lie hadn’t been exposed, is back for more hard shivving (quite literally). She made a porno “””documenting””” her fake, totally made-up ordeal. Reader Pepe alerts the CH audience,

Remember mattress girl? Well, she made a porno *reenacting* her struggles:

http://www.cecinestpasunviol.com/

This woman has unlocked a new level of crazy. Like you can’t be this ugly and crazy at the same time.

Yes, ugly and crazy, that’s one unattractive combo. The upside is that not many men will be tempted to stick their dick in ugly, so they don’t have to worry about sticking it in her crazy either.

From the rape fantasist’s website:

Do not watch this video if your motives would upset me, my desires are unclear to you, or my nuances are indecipherable.

This is a Nimitz Class Attention Whore (and Control Freak; she wants to shove her smelly snatch in men’s faces and sadistically deny their male sexuality by demanding their desexualized consideration). And there’s no doubt she’s the type of chick (there are an uncomfortably large number of them) who gets off dreaming about a rapist having his way with her.

In the past, attention whores of this magnitude would violate only a handful of people’s lives… those closest to them. And they would be discarded once their friends and family caught on to their sickness and gave up showering them with the sympathetic ardor they crave. We see with the rise of the internet and social media that the insufferable attention whore has a new lease on her vampiric, emotion-sucking malevolence. The online world has enabled her like no BFF or doting mother could; it has not created a monster, but turned a monster into a contagion, devouring cultures whole.

America will fall like Rome did, but it will be much quicker, and more cataclysmic, thanks in no small part to social media and the rise of a night army of attention whores.

PS Eskimo.

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How To Spot A Psychopath

If the data and personal observation are accurate and America is filling up with sociopaths and psychopaths, then the best advice a person could get is how to spot psychopaths and either avoid them or defend oneself against their charming predations.

As a recipient of the wicked love of one or two suprasexy sociopath chicks, I can tell you that unless your state control is rock-ribbed and your sexual market options plentiful, you’ll get shredded to ribbons under the stiletto shiv of a femme fatale.

And having had the distinct displeasure to work and socialize alongside one or two male psychopaths, the danger to your well-being is a hundredfold worse.

You could say, “It takes one to know one, right CH?” Eh, maybe. Or maybe my keenness is a gift from the forces of Light, and the wisdom gathered from my experiences meant for bestowal upon the benighted as part of a pay it forward karmic redemption. Yeah, I’ll go with that.

Good news for people with functioning empathy centers of the brain: Psychopaths (and their lesser cousins, sociopaths) have tells, just like sluts have tells. If spaths (socio- + psychopath) unintentionally announce their evil disorder before they get their hooks in you, avoidance is possible.

Here’s a “psychopathy checklist” of twenty traits that are common in psychopaths. The biggest spath tells are lying, charm, and self-entitlement.

In essence, psychopathic predators can come across as socially adept, likable – at least at first – and the life of the party. Even after getting to know them, normal people often have the sense that something is wrong, but they don’t know what, because they aren’t use to thinking in terms of predatory behavior that will never change. Psychopaths, 99% of the time, are not reformable, and normal people who get in their way often spend considerable effort and energy into reforming them, which makes the normal person all the more vulnerable. […]

Glibly charming people who lie pathologically or who have been caught stealing should be like a flashing red warning light.

Perusing that psychopath trait list, I can’t help but notice at least a few of those traits are distinctive of successful, and psychologically healthy, womanizers who simply love the romantic company of (a variety) women. There’s a fair amount of overlap between psychopathy and tight Game. For instance:

glib and superficial charm
grandiose (exaggeratedly high) estimation of self
need for stimulation

As any good player knows, chicks dig overconfident, charming men with exciting lives.

cunning and manipulativeness

Players can be manipulative, but so can women in their own ways. It’s fair to say a little bit of manipulation is normal and healthy in seduction. Legit psychopaths take that talent for manipulation to levels that would dismay even lifelong womanizers.

A spath red flag I’ve encountered is when a person (usually a man) puts his hand on your shoulder anytime he punctuates a joke he told or an opinion he delivered unsolicited. This is a domination move that forces a fast-tracked intimacy, a classic psycho charm+power offensive. If anyone pulls this on you, physically remove their hand while keeping eye contact. They won’t do it again.

Another red flag that will help you distinguish spaths from regular guy charmers: A charming, normal man will piecemeal his charm during a conversation, delivering doses of his charisma at opportune moments. A spath will come right at you with both charm guns a-blazing, even before he’s shaken your hand and gotten to know your name. The quick draw spath is employing one of his domination moves, attempting to lead and monopolize the sympathies of the social group. If you suspect you’ve got one of these psychos in your mixed company, (and you recognize the threat that he’ll captivate the women in your group), the best defense is a good offense. Treat the spath like an AMOG and tease him for his try-hard efforts to win everyone over.

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What awaits the typical beta male? Reader FrTedCrilly makes a bloodsport of vivisecting the beta male id.

Sure Game can save a beta orbiter.

Only problem is that beta orbiters often are the most vehement opponents of the sweet science of pick-up, pre- or post-humiliation.

They’ll play the waiting game. And the payoff, if they’re really “lucky”, after years of watching their princess get dumped by Skrillex clones, is a 60,000 dollar wedding and a blank-eyed speech about her soulmate and best friend. And a sexless honeymoon.

The sharpest shiv cuts the cleanest line.

On a less serious note, I do wonder, given the trend to later and fewer marriages, how long sexual market optimists think beta males will put up with being sloppy sixths to carousel-worn vagina switched into semi-arid settling mode? Do honorary Realtalkers believe there won’t be blowback from such an unsustainable societal condition? CH loves the pointillistic details best when framed by the big picture.

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Spot The Alpha

Two photos, side by side, both of men tossed out by their irate girlfriends. We don’t see the men (very clearly) or their women, but we do see the ways in which each was ceremoniously dumped.

Couples counselors and people who read too much Jezebel would think that the man dumped by a very angry girl in dramatic style is despised more than the man calmly shown the door, and that this would mean the former is less likely to enjoy a reconciliation with his jilted woman.

Chateau guests know better. A woman’s indifference, not her hatred, is the opposite of her love.

Beta males are often perplexed by how quickly their ex-girlfriends are able to put them out of mind once the poon party’s over. That is because women never really “imprint” that strongly on dutiful beta male partners. So when the reckoning comes, the women of beta boyfriends are almost giddy with the anticipation of striking out again for alpha male pastures.

Alpha males, in contrast, are rarely perplexed or grief-stricken when dumped, because they know from experience that the odds are very high that the women they royally piss off will come back to them, meekly begging for more of their inscrutably ambivalent attention. An angry outburst from a woman is as good a sign there is that she’s still in love, and won’t stand to be away from the tormentor she loves for long.

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The Beta Orbiter’s Lament

It’s a good idea to avoid the temptation to ask a girl out on a public stage, especially if you don’t know for certain that the girl likes you “that way”. But leave it to beta males to endorse hope over (lack of) experience. A viral video of a teenager prompositioning his lust object to be his prom date ended with what must have felt like the ne plus ultra of humiliating rejections.

She was, naturally, “already seeing someone”.

The beta orbiter’s lament is always being the guy who arrives at his decision for romance too late. And when he does arrive there, his mountaintop announcement is maladroit and swiftly dismissed.

Why is the beta orbiter so clueless about the feelings of the girl he orbits? I’ll tell you what’s likely happening behind the scenes of these public spectacles of romantic rejection.

Stage One Beta Orbiter: He “hangs around” this girl he really likes, but only peripherally. Her proximity, however unattached and fleeting, strengthens his feelings for her. She, of course, is oblivious to his feelings.

Stage Two Beta Orbiter: As his love grows beyond the bounds of possible reciprocation, he projects his passion onto the girl he orbits, actively fantasizing and even beginning to imagine real indications that she is as interested in him as he is in her. She remains oblivious to his feelings.

Stage Three Beta Orbiter: Time definitely does not heal blue balls. The beta orbiter now envisions a day not too far in the future when his p will enter her v. He starts to act weirdly (more weird than usual) around her planetary trap zone, and it is at this point that she suspects his romantic interest, leaving her grappling with feelings of discomfort, but also of manipulative promise. It will be hard for her now to resist her subconscious impulse to use her beta orbiter toolbag for emotional and practical provisioning. Even the sweetest girls can give in to the lure of exploiting loyal, lovestruck beta males for asexual profit.

Stage Four Beta Orbiter: He is so infatuated and hypnotized by her platonic company, he can’t see that jerkboy pinching her on the ass as he walks by and her turning red-faced with aroused embarrassment. All the real life signals are red, and all his fantasy life signals are green. He ignores the obvious lack of interest from her and pays attention only to what he has concocted in his fevered mental masturbatorium. A collision is coming.

Stage Five Beta Orbiter: He can’t contain his feelings any more. The time is ripe! Public proposition, because it can’t fail and he wants the world to know his good fortune, or because he nurses a seed of doubt and thinks a crowd of sympathetic allies will exert just the right amount of pressure on the girl of his dreams. Horrible rejection ensues, hug from mom, lesson learned? Not always. Not often.

A beta orbiter can be rescued by a wise male buddy or mentor, and by learning game, sometime around or before Stage Three. By Stage Four, he’s a lost cause, and he’ll have to endure Stage Five humiliation to snap out of his delirium. That’s what happened to the teenager in the above story. That’s what had to happen.

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It seems hard to believe, immersed as we are currently in a miasma of equalist lies, that there were ever times in America’s rapidly receding past when people shared a generally realistic appraisal of the sexes. But there were. And America’s fruited plains were once populated with Realtalkers. A reader forwards a link to Realtalk, 1920s-style. The subject is “Petting Parties”, which were all the rage during that time.

Soon the lovey-dovey wingdings were popping up all across the country. Southerners sometimes called them necking parties. They were called mushing parties in the West; fussing parties in the Midwest and spooning everywhere, the United Press noted later in 1921. Eventually some flappers began referring to party-petting as snugglepupping.

It’s almost weird to read about a time when America was so culturally unified, and this despite massive waves of Eastern European immigration happening then.

A game-aware nugget of Realtalk is tucked into the story:

“Girls like to be called snuggle-puppies,” one school administrator told the reporter. “They grant the boys liberties. Encourage them to take them and if the young chaps do not, they are called ‘sissies’, ‘poor boobs’ or ‘flat tire.’ ”

Heartiste Poon Commandment XIII: Better to err on the side of too much boldness rather than too little.

The beta male orbiter was known to women long before our time. He was that “sissy” — an apt description — who couldn’t bustamove when it most counted. That 1920s beta male stumbled and fumbled and waited patiently for unmistakeable signals from the girl until she grew bored with him and alighted for a better man who knew how to travel the landscape of her hindbrain.

Related: Fat women were never attractive to men. The “perfect woman”, according to an 1890s leaflet, was slender and feminine, not a hint of fupa or manjaw on her. America the Beautiful, where have ye gone?

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The Nonprofit Tweeconomy

What kind of economy do women prop up, and propagate? A reader forwards an unintentionally funny, and portentous, chart.

Women in their 20s, 30s, and beyond flock to nonprofits for work. There are three reasons for this:

1. Women are psychologically much different than men and have a sex-based preference for work in the “helping” and “schoolmarm” industries. If a woman gets to tell you what to do, and also gets to enjoy a sanctimonious glow from the thought that she’s bettering the world, she is a happy clam.

2. Nonprofits are post-scarcity economy work that appeals to people who want to “self-actualize”, the preponderance of these people being women. Profit maximizing and corporate ladder climbing are icky to women, unless that greed and self-aggrandizement occurs in the context of a do-goodism NGO.

3. Nonprofit work requires little to no UGH MATH CLASS IS HARD education or skills. Women have both less mathematical acumen than men (on the whole), and less desire to do work which involves the rigors of logic and maths.

A job that lets a white woman write jargony word salad all day, get paid for it, AND status whore about uplifting Africa’s women and children (men? what men?)? Hole-y twat tingles, sign her up!

Most nonprofits are a waste of human capital. 99% of them do nothing for their causes, or actively harm their clients and the donors duped into believing the equalist PR. The growth of nonprofits — and the rush of women into their ranks — is a hallmark of a pre-implosion empire.

You may think, “Aren’t nonprofits a luxury, and therefore proof that the society which can accommodate them is a wealthy and self-confident society able to afford a grandiose (and futile) amount of charitable giving?”

Yes, but no. Nonprofits are a luxury, but luxuries often foretell coming hardships. Pride cometh before the fall, and so do nonprofits. A tired, self-doubting, enervated culture will, contrary conventional liberal wisdom, often turn en masse to helping outsiders because, one, it has lost the will to enrich itself materially and spiritually and two, turning one’s energies outward can serve as a psychological balm for personal failings. Nonprofit work functions as a kind of palimpsest, underneath the veneer of which we spy scribblings of social unrest.

UPDATE

Reader YIH adds his .01 cents.

Here’s what that $1 you give to ”help the starving children of Africa” (or other
charity) does:
.80 – Fundraising: The phone banks and all those ads (What? You didn’t know those were paid for? LOL)
.10 – Administration: The lawyer (on staff, comes in handy), Accountant (gotta document what comes in and what goes out don’cha know) and the guy (or gal) in the suit behind the desk.
.09 – The costs to transport the ‘aid’ and the ‘aid workers’ plus all needed supplies as well as round-the-clock armed security for them. Not to mention the spokesperson and the cameraman – those ads don’t make themselves y’know!
,01 – That’s how much ‘Starvin’ Marvin’ gets – plus those nice t-shirts telling them that the Seahawks just won their second Super Bowl.

Liberals just have to learn to accept that inequality is a part of the human condition — perhaps a necessary and beneficial part — and…

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America, Then And Now

Then:

Now:

This comparison was too juicy to pass up. The symbolism works on so many levels. LITERAL GELDED NATION.

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Creator and anti-WASP bigot Matthew Weiner ended his show Mad Men, in his usual style of conspicuously pushing the neurotic propaganda of feminist empowerment and WASP old order cultural displacement while sabotaging his good progressive beliefs by giving in to the exhilarating temptation to sneak morsels of Realtalk™ into his lavish set piece scenes.

(For the record, I thought the show was pretty good 2/3rds of the time. 1/3rd of it was too muddled, directionless, and boilerplate liberal to be worthy of my undivided judgmentalism.)

Mad Men ended on a lot of happy notes. Happy, if we judge by the satisfaction of feminist and manlet pop culture critics crowing about Joan’s new business venture or Peggy’s bright, barren careergrrl future. But CH has the Crimson Pill which will enlighten you about what really happens to all the characters if they were representations of real world people instead of fantasy pewter figurines in the equalist’s curio shoppe.

Joan – She starts a successful video production company spin-off from the contacts she acquired as part of a bonanza of largesse from generous Sterling Cooper men who fucked her or wanted to fuck her over the years. Gradually, her female influence — sexual harassment seminars! — erodes the company’s bottom line, and she has to bring in a male COO to right the ship. As is typical of aging, buxom women who are va va voom in their prime, she bloats up to the size of a tugboat, and at age 45 has to face the prospect of romantic isolation with a son who hates her more each day for selfishly robbing him of a father. She consoles herself with cats, her bank account, and feverish shopping sprees, while wondering in her spare moments if she should have hung up the phone as her lover, Richard, was heading out the door for the last time.

Peggy – Stan and Peggy marry, but Stan comes to resent, despite his best liberal intentions, his subordinate occupational and social role to his wife. This perfectly natural male resentment eats at their marriage, until they divorce and Peggy spends the next twenty years in the bowels of corporate America becoming that ballbusting cunt employees will brag about having worked under as proof of their ability to survive the Worst Boss Ever. She has one Downs Syndrome kid with Stan whom she promptly gives up to an orphanage like she did with her first bastard. She ages poorly and kills herself at age 55 on an overdose of Vicodin.

Betty – Betty dies with a cigarette in her mouth, and Henry finds a younger hotter tighter woman to marry within the year, defying his grief and tears and earnest belief that no one like Betty will ever grace his life again.

Sally – The cock carousel is Sally’s calling. She rides with abandon.

Pete – As a somewhat charming, egotistical prick with executive status, Pete is never wanting for sexual attention from young women. He breaks his promise to Trudy and cheats on her with a Wichita beauty queen. But Pete loves Trudy and treats her well through the haze of his sexual peccadilloes… she is after all his main squeeze and mother of his children… so this complicates Trudy’s anger toward her husband. Trudy loves her prairie life and Lear Jet so much she puts up with Pete’s indiscretions, breaking her promise to him and to herself. There is no worse betrayal than betraying one’s own principles.

Roger – Aloof alpha male to the end, (and CH’s favorite character… “and bring one for my mother…”), Roger learns just enough French to coax hot MILF Marie to offer him anal access. She hates him and loves him for this. Also, he comes to his senses and threatens to rescind his Last Will and Testament to write his bastard son out of it until Joan gives the kid his surname.

Don – Don returns to McCann the most self-assured he’s ever felt. He creates the Coca-Cola “I’d like to teach the world to sing…” ad, which catapults him to superstardom status within the ad-making communitaaaaah. He also returns to chasing skirt and charming the pants off everyone, but now that he’s found inner peace, he no longer feels guilt for his choices. A yogic serenity allows him, for the first time in his life, to accept himself as the alpha male juggernaut people can’t help but love and serve. He stops beating himself up for possessing a skill set which earns him nice things in life, like money, women, and beta male admiration. He bangs Peggy across his desk after she comes to him confessing marital troubles with Stan.

tl;dr

Mad Men is the expectoration of Matthew Weiner’s low T combined with his envy of the Winkelvoss golem and his lifelong mixed feelings for his overbearing Jewish mother.

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