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It’s Peanut Butter And Vanity Time

Jan 11th, 2014 by

A grateful reader writes to say thanks to the demidongle of CH for changing his love life for the better,

I have to start out by saying thank you for this site. It has certainly opened my eyes and cured me of my societal conforming. Like most men I have had a couple good relationships, a couple bad, and some flings, ons’s in between. Your typical guy if you will. To preface this e-mail I had a 7y relationship as a young man and a couple year and a half ones up until this point. The first one taught me a lot about life, love etc. the ones that followed them were shit. In July of this year I met my current gf. After assessing this relationship time and time again I realize she is one of those girls that needs a guy in control, but if you’re not, she fucking hates you and the resentment infects her body like the plague. Ive seen both sides of it. Her undying affection and love; and her seething resentment. Her dad was absent in her life therefore she tends to overcompensate with the “control” of her life. She’s never trusted anyone to take care of her but herself. A wall to break through for sure.

Im one of those guys who learned to not care too much about the women I didn’t care about (naturally), and care a lot for the ones I do care for. So an aloof alpha when it didn’t matter, and a beta when it does. [ed: a common male malady] So I got into this relationship and things went fantastically for a few months and then she started in on me about things. From how we were before in the honeymoon phase I just figured well I’ll do what she wants and Ill be fine. Wrong. I couldn’t figure out why she was still requiring more from me after doing what she wanted. She was still unhappy. “you aren’t doing this”, “you aren’t doing that” “I cant live like this”… So I supplicated more, and more, until my brain was going to explode from the confusion. We had a few blow out fights that was basically my frustration for her unhappiness exploding, and her continuing to complain. I told her “you ask me to leap and I fucking leap, what the hell else do you want me to do?”.  But she would still tell me that she loved me even though at the same time she was telling me she was unhappy and treating me like a doormat. She never stopped telling me she loved me. Which probably confused me more. My fight or flight response was on FLIGHT but something kept me there..

So I was fed up, had no solution to the problem, I do love her and with my mr fix it attitude in full effect along with my commitment and resiliency.. I needed a solution. So I found your site… read the commandments. Read the beta/ alpha posts. Keeping attraction in a relationship. The story about the experiment with the husband and wife was especially eye opening. So from reading a lot of the posts that pertained to myself I decided to do what seemed counter intuitive. I chilled the fuck out, mentally strengthened myself and decided to love her fully even through her storm of emotions. One of the commandments states:

“Her emotions are a hurricane, her soul a saboteur. Think of yourself as a bulwark against her tempest. When she grasps for a pillar to steady herself against the whipping winds or yearns for an authority figure to foil her worst instincts, it is you who has to be there… strong, solid, unshakeable and immovable.”

So I stopped supplicating to everything. I started defending myself. She’d ask me what I wanted and then shit test me with “well why would you do it like that, that makes no sense, that’s stupid” So I said “you asked me what I wanted, I told you, and you aren’t happy with that. Don’t want my opinion, don’t ask for it” she just about fell over. I stood my ground. She left for work pissed but I didn’t go after her. I ignored it. She called me about 2 hours later to make sure everything was ok and was overjoyed to talk about what we were going to do that night for dinner. It was peculiar but I just went along with it. She came home and was like an excited girl again. A small victory. And a promising insight into her psyche. There have been many times since then (about 3 weeks ago) that she’s done the same and I’ve stood my ground. In that time she’s gone from seething resentment to joyful love again, which I enjoy along with the increase in fucking that has come because of it.

The last thing I’d like to say is that the guy I’ve been for the last month since finding your site is the guy I have always been.  I just thought that since I cared so much that I needed to conform to her wishes to make her happy. But she just wanted a man who was a fucking man and was going to put her back into her place. In turn that made her love even more, and come after me. She was testing my ability to lead the relationship and I was failing. She knows exactly what shes doing, and so do I, I just didn’t understand it. She was shit testing me every fucking day. So I stopped coming after her about what is wrong, why she’s quiet, just let her fucking be. The other day sitting on the couch she looks at me and says “I need you” I said “ok”, “no like I need you, I don’t know what I would do without you”…

Shes crazy. But my ultimate success is taming her, it’s a fucking game. It always is. I get off on it as sadistic as that seems.

Thanks Chateau Heartiste. You rock. You can use my story but please no personal information. And just because I know you get a lot of trolls I can tell you I most certainly am not. Hopefully some shit made sense in my rambling. Thanks again.

When strangers seeking answers amble across Chateau grounds and peer into its dusty libraries, two kinds of reactions follow:

1. Screeching and shrieking about the horror of this place, or

2. Solemn thanks of appreciation for saving a life.

Some people you just can’t reach. But some… they’re ready to be happy. The door is always open for them.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Hope and Change, Reader Mailbag, Vanity | Comments Off

Future Fatty Game

Jan 10th, 2014 by

You can use the 4 Tests of Future Fatness as a premise to run Future Fatty Game, which is really a form of teasing neg that challenges women to prove they won’t get fat on your watch. For a prime example of FFG, see this by commenter Knowbody,

Man I love that the wrist thing has blown up ’round here. Tell all my dudes to look at the wrists…..and the girls I’m gaming on hahaha. Here’s a fun game..when they send selfies via text..

:razz:

Your Reply: show me yr wrists
Her: whaat? why lol
You: so I can see if yr goin to be a big fatty
Her: omgosh!! your such a jerk lol
then dont reply till you see wrists…..

Fellas, she WILL send the wrist pix. Provided they are 25 or younger, any older, this silly game doesn’t work as well. Why are you even messing around with 25+ anyway bro?

This is the kind of youthful exuberance that girls love. Eat it right up, they do!

Now, this wouldn’t be CH if we didn’t parse every jot and titty of this exchange for your edification. (Not that there aren’t times when we prefer to let the mack daddy morsel float on your screens unmolested.) This is a great text exchange, because it packs so much game into so few words.

Him: show me yr wrists

Aloof punctuation. A challenge. An unpredictable reply to a selfie, (most women would expect a comment about their more conspicuous body parts). It’s out of left field, and girls love men who keep them on their dainty painted toes.

Her: whaat? why lol

Sploosh protocol activated.

Him: so I can see if yr goin to be a big fatty

Makes no apology for his natural male desire. Fearlessly pushes the envelope of acceptable discourse, revealing an outcome independent mindset. The more you clue a girl into the notion that you can take it or leave it, the more she’ll want you to take it.

:razz:

Her: omgosh!! your such a jerk lol

Houston, the oyster has splashed down on the barbershop floor.

then dont reply till you see wrists…..

It is required.

Future Fatty Game won’t work as well on older broads because they keenly feel the encroachment of unsightly fat on their post-prime bodies. Unlike choice hotties with sky high self-esteems, the aging beauty is one teasing stab referencing her porker potential from an emotional breakdown. Younger and hotter women adore edginess from flirtatious charmers; older and uglier women often mistake that edginess for sincerity. If a woman has more to offer, the jabs of cads don’t cause a core meltdown. If a woman knows her best years are behind her, edgy teasing can strike with the force of an ego cleaver.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game | Comments Off

The Top 4 Future Fatty Tests

Jan 9th, 2014 by

Vox has a post about identifying future female fatties which references a study that found differences in MRI scans of the brains of women when viewing food or exercise. Women whose brains essentially bellyached at the sight of exercise were more likely to fatten up for the pig roast.

CH would like to e’er so ‘umbly suggest less invasive, and perhaps equally predictive, methods for determining which girl you date today has a good shot of becoming a gross fatty tomorrow.

There are four tests, listed in descending order of predictive power.

1. The Mom Test

If her mom is fat, she’ll be fat. If her mom was fat in old pictures of herself, she’ll be fat REAL SOON. The Mom Test is about as close to a guarantee of future daughter fatness as you can get. Prepare yourself for the inevitable by acquiring new numbers and warming up your texting-while-dumping thumbs.

2. The Wrist Test

She’s thin where it most counts but her wrists are old growth logs. Watch out! The wrist bones are a dead giveaway that she has the sturdy frame to support future poundage. She might not bloat to Jabba proportions, but she will “fill out”, to use a transparently softening euphemism.

3. The Diet History Test

Does she have a history of dieting? This may take some digging to uncover, but girls who have dieted in the past are prone to dieting in the present, and they will self-incriminate about previous attempts to lose weight, failed or successful. Naturally and durably slender women rarely, if ever, actively diet. “Actively” is the key word here, since it is possible to “diet” by simply choosing certain lifestyles without making a consciously pained effort to do so. A woman whose past is littered with the detritus of planned diets is one weak moment away from turning into a post-blueberry Violet Beauregarde.

4. The Unprompted Exercise Test

Does she jump into exercise without being prompted by external influences such as peers, scheduled class times on her phone calendar, or gym fads popularized on celebrity websites? Does she undertake exercise with a smile rather than a groan? Then she’s a thin-for-life keeper! But be careful about using total exercise hours spent as a measurement of a thin girl’s propensity to stay thin. If she has to be pushed into exercise, then she can just as easily be pushed out of it by eviler life influences. And many fat girls do log impressive amounts of time curling 1 lb pink dumbbells and strolling on treadmills at the lowest speed setting. The crucial variable, then, is a girl’s eagerness to exercise, and especially her eagerness to exercise alone. This is a girl who moves her body not to lose weight, but to stimulate a dopamine rush. Happily, a welcome side effect of that dopamine craving is a slenderness that just won’t quit.

So there you have it. Tally your girlfriend’s score.

Would you bang her sexy mom? Check.
Are her wrists like songbird legs? Check.
Is her idea of a diet not eating like a hog? Check.
Does she run five miles without advertising it to the whole world, or making a Hollywood production out of it? Check.

Congratulations! You have a girl whose tight hourglass bod will hold up for years, and even decades, to come. I’d say slap a ring on it, but that’s the one test that will reverse the positive result of passing all four of the above Future Fatty Tests.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, Guy Rules, Hungry Hungry Hippos | Comments Off

Why Chateau Heartiste Taunts Loudmouth Fatties

Jan 9th, 2014 by

Occasionally, barely concealed incipient concern trolls will ask why CH gives so much shit to obstreperous fatties instead of just leaving them to their moribund misery.

The answer — besides a vigorous reminder that CH is not a camp of saints — is that loud and proud fatso promoters deliver a caustic, soul destroying message that will increase the total amount of ugliness and unhappiness in the world should women reading their lies start to believe them. Fat apologist feminists who insist on writing manifestos excusing or rationalizing or glorifying their fatness, or slandering anti-fat crusaders, will get, and do very much deserve, both barrels of the shivgun. Call it environmental activism. Call it the penile erection protection program.

Lies must be met with truth. Ideally, that truth comes packaged in stylistic ordnance that explodes in a shower of entertaining dazzle for fence-sitting gawkers and liquidates the central processing egos of the blubbery lie machines. Utterly annihilated, their demolecularized fatty essence scattered to the wind, the suffering fat chick (and it’s almost always a chick claiming fatness is fine, which should tell you something) howling in pain and impotent indignation serves as an example for the others: If you spread filthy lies that cause, intentionally or consequentially, women to be stripped of their beauty and thus men deprived of their happiness, CH will be here at the ready, the tip of its nimble hate spear plunging deep into your ululating hindbrain, probing, excavating, and finally stabbing with the force of a thousand unleashed hells the heart of your scarred, coal black id.

Fat shaming now, fat shaming tomorrow, fat shaming forever! MOOAH!

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Feminist Idiocy, Hope and Change, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Inner Beauty, Psy Ops | Comments Off

“The want of men was their ruin”

Jan 9th, 2014 by

Aristotle expounded on the fall of Sparta at the hands of their women. It’s brisk reading and, to CH readers, offers familiar theories about the sexes. The ancients knew more about the nature of women than do our modern, plugged in Wiki warriors with the world’s PC knowledge at their fingertips.

Again, the license of the Lacedaemonian women defeats the intention of the Spartan constitution, and is adverse to the happiness of the state. For, a husband and wife being each a part of every family, the state may be considered as about equally divided into men and women; and, therefore, in those states in which the condition of the women is bad, half the city may be regarded as having no laws. And this is what has actually happened at Sparta; the legislator wanted to make the whole state hardy and temperate, and he has carried out his intention in the case of the men, but he has neglected the women, who live in every sort of intemperance and luxury. The consequence is that in such a state wealth is too highly valued, especially if the citizen fall under the dominion of their wives, after the manner of most warlike races, except the Celts and a few others who openly approve of male loves. The old mythologer would seem to have been right in uniting Ares and Aphrodite, for all warlike races are prone to the love either of men or of women. This was exemplified among the Spartans in the days of their greatness; many things were managed by their women. But what difference does it make whether women rule, or the rulers are ruled by women? The result is the same. Even in regard to courage, which is of no use in daily life, and is needed only in war, the influence of the Lacedaemonian women has been most mischievous. The evil showed itself in the Theban invasion, when, unlike the women other cities, they were utterly useless and caused more confusion than the enemy. This license of the Lacedaemonian women existed from the earliest times, and was only what might be expected. For, during the wars of the Lacedaemonians, first against the Argives, and afterwards against the Arcadians and Messenians, the men were long away from home, and, on the return of peace, they gave themselves into the legislator’s hand, already prepared by the discipline of a soldier’s life (in which there are many elements of virtue), to receive his enactments. But, when Lycurgus, as tradition says, wanted to bring the women under his laws, they resisted, and he gave up the attempt. These then are the causes of what then happened, and this defect in the constitution is clearly to be attributed to them. We are not, however, considering what is or is not to be excused, but what is right or wrong, and the disorder of the women, as I have already said, not only gives an air of indecorum to the constitution considered in itself, but tends in a measure to foster avarice.

The mention of avarice naturally suggests a criticism on the inequality of property. While some of the Spartan citizen have quite small properties, others have very large ones; hence the land has passed into the hands of a few. And this is due also to faulty laws; for, although the legislator rightly holds up to shame the sale or purchase of an inheritance, he allows anybody who likes to give or bequeath it. Yet both practices lead to the same result. And nearly two-fifths of the whole country are held by women; this is owing to the number of heiresses and to the large dowries which are customary. It would surely have been better to have given no dowries at all, or, if any, but small or moderate ones. As the law now stands, a man may bestow his heiress on any one whom he pleases, and, if he die intestate, the privilege of giving her away descends to his heir. Hence, although the country is able to maintain 1500 cavalry and 30,000 hoplites, the whole number of Spartan citizens fell below 1000. The result proves the faulty nature of their laws respecting property; for the city sank under a single defeat; the want of men was their ruin.

Translated into New Shivvian:

“Hordes of pampered, ballcutting, materialistic, meddling, careerist, status whoring, slutty Spartan women riding the cock carousel and riding their hapless hounded hubbies, became self-sufficient property owners and heiresses of a few very wealthy aggrandizing men, thereby robbing Sparta’s beta males of the opportunity to establish affordable families of their own, leaving the city down the road with too few men to defend itself against invaders who themselves didn’t give a shit what proto-feminist Spartan women thought.”

CH is fond of recapitulating the axiom that women are perishable and men are expendable, and this is true in the whole and assessed over discrete blocks of time. But perturbations in the male population caused by long term fluxes in the expendability side of the equation will lead, as observed and noted by Aristotle, (a thinker so great you could jam the writings and wailings of all of history’s leading feminists and mangina suck-ups into a single fold of his cerebellum and it would scarcely amount to more than a fleeting musing in his daily mental output), to the ruin of a nation.

Biologically, men are indeed the expendable sex. A population group (i.e., a nation in the old timey sense of the word) can withstand short term shocks to its total number of men; it doesn’t take but one man to munch a few celery stalks and pop a few zinc tablets and carry on in his duty to impregnate an army of patriotic women and repopulate the countryside.

But given enough male expendability over time, and the first order axiom of fundamental sex difference starts to break down. For although a single man can, conceivably, star in a version of Boogie Years and spread his seed to the four corners of the country to rebuild a stricken population, that single man is also critically vulnerable to overrun by hungry barbarians who get word of a land where they can dine on honeydew and drink the milk of paradise for the low low price of one man’s scalp.

Feminists, equalists, open borders nutjobs, and assorted degenerate misfits ought to keep in mind that their beloved “progress” comes prepackaged with the seed of their destruction. CH (and Aristotle) will slap on the warning label; now it’s up to them to heed it.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, Goodbye America, Misandry, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

14 Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls… So I Will

Jan 8th, 2014 by

Things that I wish I deluded myself with earlier. Things that I’ve learned in online life, where babbling nonsense can never be fact-checked. Things people really need to talk about more, until they start to believe their own bullshit:

Everyone has rolls when they bend over. Everyone.

Yes, it’s true. When women hug their knees they show tummy rolls. ALL OF THEM HAVE TUMMY ROLLS. Of course, some rolls are tiny miniature baguettes that have to be coaxed out with extreme physical contortion and some are sun-bleached whale carcasses that protrude at the slightest exertion. And some rolls are so mighty they undulate even when the woman is standing straight. Not that any of this should make a difference, Judgy McJudgidouche. Everyone is equally sexy to the opposite sex. Except for creepers and nerds.

When people say “you’re gorgeous”, believe them.

Because if you start doubting the sincerity of random strangers who just want to make it through the day without starting fights with hair-trigger, insecure fatties, you’ll get depressed and think about killing yourself. (Protip: Don’t embarrass your family by having your dead body airlifted through a hole in the roof. Do the dirty deed in an empty field, preferably downwind of major population centers.) When well-meaning friends genuinely compliment your looks despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s because they see all of you. I mean, they see ALL of you with assistance from fish-eye lenses. So they know how to tailor their lies accordingly.

“Arm flab is embarrassing.”

No it’s not, go fuck yourself. Arm flab is romantic. Think about all the songs written about boys dying in your arms tonight… from asphyxiation.

You’re not stunning despite your body. You’re stunning because of your body.

That’s true. When a fat woman embraces you with all the inner beauty she can muster, you will be stunned and gasping for breath as your spine cracks. If you start to see a white light at the end of a tunnel, you’re not having a near-death experience; that’s just a flashlight she lost six months ago wedged in her cleavage. I am of the firm belief — much like the firmness with which creationists hold their beliefs — that every person is beautiful (except for the aforementioned creepers and nerds), and so this leaves the inside to be the part that is most telling when it comes to true “beauty”, which I have put in scare quotes because there’s no such thing as beauty, except for the even harder to discern stuff that exists on the inside. Presumably somewhere in the mitochondria?

A guy can pick you up off your feet, and it won’t break his back.

It won’t, I promise! Getting picked up by him won’t cripple anything but perhaps his ego as he struggles to deadlift a weight well above his one rep max.

True story. This just happened to me for the first time in… six years? I’m considerably heavier than I was 6 years ago (like… 70 pounds heavier) and so when I ran up to my friend Eric for a hug and he picked me up with my heels in the air… it left me breathless. I had forgotten that it was possible; I had accepted a life void of being lifted. So exhilarating. Eric didn’t suffer any lasting injuries that I could tell and he walked away pretending to be Ok, before spending the evening alone icing every joint in his body.

You don’t need to exercise every day in order to feel better about yourself.

You could get your dopamine fix with a tub of butterfat, for instance. You don’t owe it to anyone to look good for them, unless you want to be noticed by normal men with functioning libidos.

You’re allowed to fall in love with yourself. I promise.

This will be the scariest thing you will ever do, because there will be some moldy fungus colonies in your belly folds that will be very hard to love. It will also be the most amazing (albeit super delusional) experience you will ever have. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. It doesn’t make you vain. It makes you blind to reality, and that’s liberating in every nuance of the term.

It’s also okay to have days were you don’t love yourself.

It’ll take a long time to reverse the effects of self-hate indoctrination and brainwashing by hanging out on feminist fat-acceptance websites where you can indulge self-love indoctrination and brainwashing.  It’s going to take a lot longer than you think to reverse this thinking, because the non-rationalizing part of your brain knows that fatness kills romance dead. So give the media the finger, and move forward into a different media that tells you what you want to hear.

Everyone’s boobs are uneven. If you have a lot of boobs, they might be way uneven.

If you have a lot of boobs. you may want to see a doctor. Superfluous boobs are weird. But if you have just two boobs, and they’re uneven, worry about other things. Unevenness is not as much of a turn-off to men as are hanging sacks of seal blubber pendulously slapping the top of a fupa.

There are people who prefer large ladies. And I mean all sizes of large.

I thought that my best bet in life was to find a partner who accepted my fat. Pause. Give me a minute to hang my melonhead and shake it at myself. Not only are there people who adore “thick” women, but a LOT of them who prefer it. By “people”, I mean loser men with no options. By “LOT”, I mean one or two weirdo fatty fuckers.

Here is what you need to know: you do NOT need to settle for a lover who is “okay” with your body. You have the right (and millions of imaginary opportunities) to find someone who is infatuated with your body. You deserve to be worshiped by a freak fat fetishist who wants to masturbate into your chins, woman!

Fat chicks bang hot guys… ALL. THE. TIME.

If my proof by assertion doesn’t convince you, there’s always Hugh Jackman. And a million indiscriminately horny black men who would bang your back tits in a drunken haze.

“Girls” showed what society thinks about that when Hannah’s character has a weekend romance with an attractive and wealthy doctor. People flipped their shit. It was like seeing a beautiful woman in the arms of a pimply brony with a stutter. It violated too many rules about how the world really works. Never mind that the show is a vehicle for Lena Dunham’s wish fulfillment feminist fantasies, the message to us fatty fats is a positive one, and should remind us that hot guys aka socially awkward rejects will settle for dumping their tepid crippled seed in our distended porcine holes when the couch crease stops looking attractive.

Exceptions prove that the rules don’t apply to US, ladies. Now let’s group hug with our T-rex arms.

Riding during sex will NOT collapse his insides.

But it may kill him just the same.

Wearing whatever you want is a political statement.

Join the revolution. Throw style rules out the window. Wear the tutu. Wear the horizontal stripes. Wear the turquoise skinny jeans (shoe horn included). Wear the see-through blouse. Wear the bikini (sans bridge). Wear the sweat pants. Wear the shirt that says “Does this shirt make me look fat?”. Wear whatever it is that makes you happy, even if that’s the four-person tent tarp. This is your life. And it’s the life of everyone else who will mock the Mariana Trench plumber’s crack of your revolutionary posturing.

You are fucking beautiful.

I’m saying this with a straight face and seriously meaningful look where I maintain eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time, because these are the immense efforts I need to make to convince myself as well as you of an absurdity that is so transparently false to anyone with the eyes to see. I know you don’t feel like you fit into the category of gorgeous that our world aka immutable biological reality creates. I know that its hard. I know that its a daily battle to adhere to proper grammar. But fuck their fascist beauty standards, replace them with your own fascist beauty standards. The second you stop looking for a skinny model in your funhouse mirror and start looking at YOU… is the second you will start to appreciate the solitary life of the manatee. Stop looking for folds. Stop looking for canyon-sized dimples. You are perfect in the middle of a polar vortex where your layer of insulating fat gives you a survival advantage. You are more than enough for that all-you-can eat brunch buffet. You are the best thing that has ever happened to discarded piano cases doubling as coffins. And you are fucking beautiful to hungry predators looking for immobile prey and an easy week-long meal.

Say it with me, because no one of sound mind will say it with us.

“Thing #1: You’re fucking repulsive to the human eye. Oh shit! How did that get past the hamster editor?”

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Hungry Hungry Hippos, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

When Alpha Males Square Off

Jan 7th, 2014 by

Can you spot the alpha-iest alpha who ever alpha’ed?

A hushed crowd gathers at a safe distance round the two great white beasts… lords of their jungles… locked in a struggle predetermined by ancient custom and cosmic law. They slowly circle, gazes unwavering, searching for a flash of weakness in cold orbs of blue ice that have seen much. Stalking and circling, bodies taught under the veneer of custom suits and polite banter, prepared to spring to action. Their minds electrified with the weight of the rapprochement, jowls flaring a crimson warning. The winner will acquire mating rights to the loser’s concubines, and oh my is that a lot of concubines. The women on the losing side will wail and gnash their teeth, but only for a moment before regrouping and surrendering with barely concealed relief and joy to the carnal caretaking of the new king…

It’s just a snapshot of two human silverbacks in the wild, but these frozen totems at the pinnacle of their male power give us clues to the subtle undercurrents of intention and the restrained but fraught posturing that accompanies the spectacle of an alpha male face-off. It doesn’t happen often — super alpha males tend to give each other a wide berth in their natural habitats — so when a direct clash of caliphs does happen it’s occasion to clear the arena for a primetime show.

Both of these potentates have strong alpha male body language. You would expect nothing less than ramrod straight backs, squared shoulders and jutting chins from two men who are accustomed to ordering successful assassinations and plowing ass ten to a bed. Their faces are expressionless, void of the slightest twinkle of a smile in the eyes or mouth, and this too is expected when two high status men, trained by decades of accumulating a mountain of lessers and climbing over their prostrate souls, confront one another and must ascertain the other’s sentiment without revealing clues to their own emotional state. Wry smiles are affordable when one’s potential antagonist is a beta male; such an amiable gesture signals a vulnerability that the high status can easily indulge. But on the battlefield of equals, the crowd unsure which prince to line up behind, the smile is stashed lest the men risk an accidental tell of submission.

For a deeper analysis, we need to locate small details that evade cursory examination. Eye contact is important here. Putin is locked like a polonium-tipped bullet on DiCaprio’s eyes. His stare communicates, if a communique can be discerned, that he is alternately bored by this dog and pony show and pleased with the passing thought that he could… radically alter… Leo’s life trajectory with a word.

DiCaprio’s eyes, unfortunately, are obscured by the camera angle, so we can’t know if he’s meeting Putin’s pupils or looking askance as Putin sizes him up. We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say the former.

Super Alpha Male Score (SAMS) so far: Putin 1, DiCaprio 1.

Putin is not a tall man. Yet in every photo of him, he appears capable of adeptly adjusting his posture and gaze in the company of taller men. The proof of this is that you hardly ever see a picture of Putin and immediately think “Damn, he’s a short man.” He leaves a taller impression on the viewer. DiCaprio has natural gravitas due to his relative height, an advantage which Putin must neutralize. And he does, with a jaunty cock of the head and careful refusal to raise his chin too high to accommodate DiCaprio’s elevated presence. For this impressive feat, we must award Putin.

SAMS: Putin 2, DiCaprio 1.

Sadly, as the CH giveth, the CH taketh away. Note Putin’s drink; he’s holding that snifter too high up his torso, a classic  habit of defensiveness. Keep that drink by your waist, Comrade!

SAMS: Putin 2, DiCaprio 2.

Putin’s face seems more relaxed, but his carriage more tense. DiCaprio appears a little more relaxed throughout the shoulders and upper back. Leo’s brow is more knitted, though, which gives him the look of a man who is trying too hard to appear tough, or who is struggling with constipation. This one’s a wash.

SAMS: Putin 2, DiCaprio 2.

Now what? When direct comparison is limited, we turn to the adoring gaze of the crowd. The alpha male is as much a creation of the perceptions of the people who eagerly draft in his wake as he is a locus of his own alphaness. This crowd is fixed on DiCaprio. Putin may as well be another gawker.

If we stop here, and it would be reasonable to do so, the winner of the Super Alpha Male Square Off can be declared.

SAMS: Putin 2, DiCaprio 3.

Not much more to say, you say? Hold on, CH judges are privy to documents and dossiers that alter the complexion of the proceedings. We are fairly certain that DiCaprio has never slyly called out the ethnic composition of the first Soviet government and trolled the entirety of the Western world’s media.

SAMS: Putin: Irrepressible chutzpah, DiCaprio: Fancyboy.

Vlad, your trophy has been delivered to your country estate.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Desperate Male Of The Month

Jan 6th, 2014 by

The desperate male is a subspecies of the beta male. His modus operandi can be summed up in three words:

Always be chasing.

His philosophy is a simple one, assembled from the cut scenes of a thousand rom coms where the persistent Lloyd Dobler gets the girl in the end. He adheres to the core belief that women reward men who lavish them with flattery and intense declarations of romantic fealty.

Sometimes, once or twice in a millennium, he succeeds. Most of the time, men like him fail to get the girl they want, and often accomplish the opposite of what they intended: they incite the wrath or contemptuous pity of their pedestaled love interests.

To celebrate the craven puling of the desperate, clingy ünterbeta male and his mule-headed refusal to see women for what they are, the sheiks of the shocker, the maestros of the magic fingerbang, your ever ‘umble viceroys of entice ploys, CH house lords will feature occasional exposés of the sorry males whose testosterone glow went out a long time ago.

Today’s entrant to the pantheon of pathetic is a Facebook chatterer and a reminder why women are evolved to instantly assume the proto-Heisman blocking maneuver whenever they’re in the company of strange men who carry the stink of the undersexed:

Cute girls are at risk of acquiring omega male stalkers if they don’t nip their amorous wooers in the bud. This is why women have at their disposal an arsenal of shit tests and social shaming tactics. The former for those men who haven’t yet been identified for their mate worthiness; the latter for those men who have been deemed unworthy but lack the social savvy to know when to retreat. We men may not particularly enjoy having to hurdle the roadblocks that women put up on the path to sweet loving bliss, but the better of us should understand why those hurdles are necessary to women, and devise ways to circumvent them.

Besides the obvious if sick humor of it all, a couple of notable quotables jump out from the above one-sided exchange:

1. The guy violated just about every Poon Commandment. He quite spectacularly turned the Commandments on their heads. Commandment VIII took the worst beating; I half expected him to apologize for being born.

If you want to guarantee failure with women, read the Poon Commandments and do the opposite. This will ensure failure better than wearing a placard in public declaring your infidelity, buying flowers on the first date, or getting convicted of pedophilia.

2. As if we entered some bizarro universe where the sexual polarities are reversed, the girl replied in pictograms while the male wrote novellas airing his emotional laundry (and unused sperm-polluted mental health). Had the sexes been swapped in this exchange, I would be confident that these two were getting laid in the near future. But since the male has occupied the female role and the female the male role, there will be no sex.

3. Any man who thinks promising a woman that he “won’t take advantage of her” is the way to her heart is a power tool. Chivalry works in the abstract (specifically that abstract where unicorns are a possibility); in practice it’s an abysmal failure. A woman, if asked, will always say she wants a man “who respects her need to take it slow”, but in reality, where her words meet the unstoppable force of her tingles, a chivalrous gentleman’s pose is the equivalent of downselling: “Sure, this smartphone looks fast and functional, but it actually has parts made from Fisher Price toys. Try this cheapskate badboy clamshell over here instead.”

4. “Hows the pretty lady doin” could have worked as a funny opener if a parrot pictogram was appended to it, but midway through three weeks of unreciprocated Facebook self-immolation it’s the death warble of a man who’s forever been Pluto in women’s solar systems: A distant orbiter who barely qualifies as a space rock.

So here’s to you, “Hows the pretty lady doin” Man. Your travails are a life lesson in how not to act with women.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Tool Time | Comments Off

The Leftoid Media Lie Machine

Jan 3rd, 2014 by

As most CH readers are likely aware, mass media suppression of hatefacts has accelerated and intensified in recent years, with signs that 2014 will usher the Year of Crimethink Suppression. As a minor but telling example of the effort the liberal-owned-and-operated media industrial complex (aka the propaganda arm of the Cathedral) will go to maintain their Narrative and excise uncongenial facts from their copy, Mangan tweeted (can someone please create a social media platform with a manlier sounding name, ferkrissakes?) the following,

Dishonest, groupthink journalism: 98% of Stories Ignore That Ice-bound Ship Was On Global Warming Mission. http://newsbusters.org/blogs/mike-ciandella/2014/01/02/frozen-out-98-stories-ignore-ice-bound-ship-was-global-warming-missi

In the scheme of things, it’s a small “oversight” by the journalistic zero integrity clown show, (and ironic considering that global warming is the one liberal pet cause that is buttressed by at least some respectable science), but when you multiply this trivial slight against the truth by the millions of other big and little anti-white lies the Cathedral tells every hour and every day of the year, it becomes clearer that the American public is being deliberately lied to on a scale so massive it may dwarf in sweep and penetration the propaganda outlets of the totalitarian regimes of the 20th Century East.

Why do they lie? And why do they lie on such insignificant details, when telling the truth would seem to do them no harm? For answers, you need to get inside the heads of your Columbia Journalism School SWPL foes.

The Leftoid Media Lie Machine operates under the direction of two fundamental psychological processes that exist in every human being, but are especially pronounced in your typical leftoid: Ego preservation and status whoring.

Media mavens and liberal lickspittles alike fancy themselves the cognitive elite; they take pride in their smarts and their education. They are world class humblebraggarts and suck-up credentialists. Their insufferable ideology — a caustic mix of snarkism, childism and feelsism — is their coin of the realm, the barter they use to signal their smarts and to draw up cultural battle lines that give them tactical advantage. When their beliefs are challenged, as is becoming more their reality every day thanks to shiv masters like yours truly, they go into rabid attack mode, because a threat to their egos is like a threat to their bodies. The leftoid is nothing if he is not his glowing, pulsing ego. If the leftoid loses his Narrative prerogative, he may as well lose his reason for living.

And so the temptation to lie lie lie is strong in the leftoid when the truth begins to come out and undercut his manicured mental world and cherished self-conception as an enlightened and kind-hearted wunderkind. He responds to the crisis by working tirelessly to keep that Overton Window securely in his playing field. Three consequences of the threat against the leftoid’s haughty but paper-thin smugness then emerge:

1. The Cathedral suppression of truth will intensify as realization spreads among the true believers in the ranks that everything they’ve believed is a lie.

True believers hide contradicting facts from themselves as much as they do from others. This is an ego protection countermeasure. It isn’t logical, but it is human.

2. The ruling elite who are cynically aware of the truth but can’t escape their emotional attachment to their ideology or to status whoring on the backs of the wrong kinds of white people will encourage the lying as a tool of psychological and political warfare.

Cathedral leftoids loathe the idea that they might give aid and comfort to their non-leftoid enemies. In this scenario, they know the truth on some level, but refuse to acknowledge it (despite any journalistic ethical strictures commanding them to do so) because they believe acknowledging it will embolden and gird the spirits of those they consider horrible, no good people. To these leftoids, the prospect of Heartland Joe (Votech, Class of 1975) beaming with satisfaction that his intuition about the way the world works was right all along drives them insane with rage. Even worse, the thought that a sadistic demon like me would take an eviscerating scalpel to their egos armed with their de facto surrender papers keeps them awake at night in terror.

3. Slander, spying and sanitization will become the default actions of the liberal gatekeepers of discourse gaping ineffectually into the teeth of intractable social problems caused primarily by their own ideas and preferred policies.

Expect shitlib hysteria to reach epic contortions in the coming years, because it will be the only reaction they have left to assuage their fraying egos as the world they constructed falls to pieces around them. The more unsolvable the mass scale social problems become, the more readily leftoids retreat to shrieking bansheeism as a policy prescription and psychological balm.

In the end, the truth wins out. The question is whether it wins in the arena of genteel exchange of ideas, or it rises as the last man standing in a blood-soaked thunderdome.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Current Events, The Id Monster | Comments Off

Is A Blubbering Inner Party Leftoid Trying To Silence Chateau Heartiste?

Jan 2nd, 2014 by

News alerts over the Twitters reveal that a smug bearded mole allegedly within the WordPress organization has contracted the womanly vapors from reading Chateau Heartiste and is searching for remedies to make the hurty stop.

@alternatekev Hunting down cowards on the internet because they’ve just collided some worlds for me and they aren’t going to like it.

@jaydot http://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/12/30/sociopathy-is-increasing-in-america/and http://www.returnofkings.com/24142/why-did-karl-halverson-pierson-attack-his-school-and-kill-a-pretty-girl

@jaydot if i find enough evidence of incitations for violence in the first link, I can have them removed from the internet.

We hear so much about liberal tolerance and open-mindedness, yet in practice it’s hard, and getting harder, to find actual examples of anything but the opposite behavior from these self-declared humanist champions of free expression. The typical liberal now is as much characterized by his quickness to silence dissent as he is by his weak jaw-concealing hipster cheek scruff and his ability to pass for a woman in a tasteful skirt. He’s not a subversive; he’s a schoolmarm.

For those wondering, this is how leftoid Cathedral media power operates when their first line of attack — an attempt at social shaming and ostracism — fails: Backroom machinations by a vocal and ideologically strident pro-goon contingent, protected by thick corporate layers of less strident but emotionally sympatico allies that vastly outnumber any opposition, leverages their power to cow resistance and control the discourse by literally censoring open inquiry and speech that upsets the delicate balance of their uterine flora. If @alternatekev at WordPress.com can’t win on the battlefield of ideas, well, he can always make the ridiculous claim that a post about possible increasing levels of sociopathy in America is an incitement to violence, and convince a few nerds in SysAdmin to burn the ASCII books. Problem solved, as Stalin might say.

WordPress is a great platform, and a model for other hosting companies. They have provided a free service that has fostered a true renaissance of ideas on the hallowed grounds of CH. One wonders if WordPress.com is aware that one of their employees is a gung-ho advocate of disappearing wordpress-hosted blogs for writing things that offend his exquisite sensibilities? I’m not a fly on the wall at WordPress headquarters, but I can’t imagine an employee so transparently antagonistic to the first principle of a company to expand the means with which free thinking men can communicate to the masses would be the sort of saboteur with whom the company wishes to associate.

So here we are, another mental manboob (and physical manboob, if you had to bet) thrilling at the prospect of executing his own private Watsoning to the hoots and hollers of his ignoramous leftoid compatriots, beaming ear to ear that he fights the good fight to squash truth-seeking for the cause of conformist cant. Stand proud, @alternatekev, for your struggle is the struggle of untold millions around the world who must suffer in silence the humility of reading stuff that turns them red in the face and incites them to hunt for the witch to burn.

What’s more to say? You sit in the driver’s seat, @alternatekev. Take your shot. Suppress or get off the pot. Victory is within your grasp.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, The Id Monster, Tool Time | Comments Off

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