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Game Is Real

Occasional testimonials of the awesome power of game are useful for new readers. Via Vox at Alpha Game,

Small example: I recently ran into a girl I’d been very interested in a couple years back and never really gotten over, but our conversation went very differently than it would have even 6 months ago. She’d effectively friend-zoned me a long time ago (or more accurately, I’d clumsily friend-zoned myself), but at one point after I said something that surprised her, I saw unguarded respect in her eyes. That’s a feeling I’ll not soon forget, and in an instant it confirmed more of what’s been said here to me than 100 logical arguments could.

The result was that I’m no longer friend-zoned, and I’m also no longer interested.. funny how when you change from responder to initiator you start seeing people differently. Now of course an Alpha will find all that amusing and a silly thing to call a victory, but that’s fine. It’s progress. Some guys have to start bench-pressing with just the bar, but they don’t have to linger there for long.

That “unguarded respect” is what I like to call a “Surge of Tingle”. It’s that feel women get when shocked by a blast of alpha-tude from a man whom they never expected such a blast. The Surge of Tingle sends lustblood to her physical and cortical extremities, and the perceptive man will notice it most clearly in her eyes, where the dull sheen of boredom with the world’s mediocre masses of beta males is swept away by a lively, shiny, moist expressiveness roused to ocular attention by a charismatically challenging man.

Sometimes all it takes is a few words that are different than all the words you have spoken in your life to women before. A path formerly untravelled, but rich with promises of breathtaking scenery, if you will only take a step forward on it. You have a license to charm. Use it. When you do, the reality of game will materialize like an obelisk from the retreating fog, and you’ll finally have your understanding.

[crypto-donation-box]

Anonymous (probable troll, doesn’t matter) proudly declaims,

I am a psychiatrist who recently prescribed the main girl im fucking [who is a 26 yo former full time model] wellbutrin bc she was feeling depressed regarding the fact that id never marry her….but she feels like she cant leave the relationship. So in essence I have control of this bitches mind psychologically AND biologically. Its tight.

Keep it unreal, my friend.

I wonder if there are certain occupations that provide the practitioner with a skill set suited for chronic womanizing? I think psychology and psychiatry would qualify, even if half of what’s taught in psychology is bullshit, (in the arena of picking up women, that’s a feature not a bug). Or it could just be that womanizers are interested in fields like psychology, which attract a disproportionate share of them. Male-oriented occupations like IT, manufacturing, or the trades tend not to be filled with many mindfuck masters of the pussiverse. Among the men who have carved out a living in female-oriented or unisexual fields that require more verbal facility than math ability or hand-eye coordination are some of the most talented and ruthless of pussy slayers. Show me a face-time guy at a PR firm and I’ll show you a man whose biggest problem is keeping his mistresses quiet.

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Troll Or Omega Male?

Her arms, those perfectly rounded seat belts
which safely hold you on a ride in her plus-mobile
are oh so beautiful
And once they are back in resting position
hanging beside her body
then forming a sort of secondary cleavages
as if you did not already have enough of
her naturally large cleavage. Troll or omega male?TrollOmega maleVoteView ResultsPolldaddy.com

[crypto-donation-box]

Occasionally, CH showcases truly abhorrent beta males as “teachable moments” for the gathered readership, with the hope that readers will learn what kinds of behavior to avoid in their dealings with women (and men). This edition of Beta Of The Month (BOTM) features a smashmuff vagina-off between not two, not three, but FIVE detestable beta males for the honor of the bestest beta forever (BBF).

***

BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by an anonymous emailer. A loosely-termed man does a poetry slam (faggot SWPL manboob alert) about his travails getting friendzoned all through high school. Instead of learning from his excruciatingly recollected misery, he instead chooses more of the same self-flagellation that got him nothing. (The stomach-turning point is at 2:09):

The psychological similarity between the liberal supine beta male and the liberal feminist fat apologist is striking. Both prefer to indict the boogeyman of inegalitarian societal expectation rather than admit their miserable outcomes in life are brought on by their own actions. Admitting their agency would mean admitting the power to improve their romantic lives is in their own hands, and that’s a power that is frightening to those types who wallow in the phantom freedom of powerlessness. Admitting that their romantic failure makes them miserable would mean admitting there is an intractable biological directive which cannot be disobeyed without inviting unhappy consequences, and that’s an ugly truth the ideologically bound equalist can’t handle.

Accepting power into one’s life means surrendering the martyr’s podium. Like any addict, that martyr’s podium is the only thing keeping the self-abnegating status whores tethered to sanity. Withdrawal is a bitch.

(Buttonhole Poetry, amirite?)

***

BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by el chief. You have to wonder about a man who would agree to having this photo taken:

The cake icing reads, “Sorry about the divorce.” The crazy-eyed chihuahua lady is divorcing our intrepid beta, and rubbing his face in that fact. Now whether she’s just a sperg who didn’t mean no harm, or a sadist who likes to drive home the humiliation, is hard to say. Either way, he’s a huge beta for 1) letting their marriage decay to the point where she felt comfortable pulling this stunt on him and 2) standing there like a goof proudly displaying her heel mark on his face.

***

BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by another anonymous acolyte of the lord of the flies. A divorced man gives advice to still-married men. His checklist reads like a rectal ring history of how many ass rammings he suffered at the hands of women pegging his delicate flower ego over the course of his stillborn life. See for yourself:

1. Never stop courting. – “Never forget that, as the husband, you are a second-class citizen who can lose it all in a second.”
2. Protect your own heart. – Meaningless pabulum, given the contradicting advice directly above it.
3. Fall in love over and over again. –  Kind of hard to do when your wife gets fat and bitchy.
4. Always see the best in her. – What if she just took a dump on your jazz LP collection?
5. It’s not your job to change or fix her. – So it’s not her job to change or fix you, either, right? Right?
6. Take full accountability for your own emotions. – “If you’re mad she cheated, that’s your problem. Deal with it.”
7. Never blame your wife if you get frustrated or angry. – “I’m sorry I made you cheat on me, honey.”
8. Allow your woman to just be. – “You want to screw a mandingo while I watch? I love it when you’re just being you!”
9. Be silly. – Easier than being dominant.
10. Fill her soul everyday. – May as well, since you won’t be filling anything else of hers.
11. Be present. – Because you don’t have a life outside of her incessant chatter.
12. Be willing to take her sexually. – This is the only good piece of advice in the whole list.
13. Don’t be an idiot. – Better yet, don’t be a beta pushover.
14. Give her space. – …to eat, pray, love.
15. Be vulnerable. – Cause you know how much those sexy babes love sensitive new age men!
16. Be fully transparent. – “I really want to stick my dick in the neighbor’s teenage daughter.”
17. Never stop growing together. – Not a problem in America.
18. Don’t worry about money. – If you’re a beta male, money is about the only leverage you have. Deleverage yourself at your peril.
19. Forgive immediately. – “I forgive you for withholding sex from me for five years.”
20. Always choose love. – You know what they call men who always choose love, no matter what? Stalkers.

Fuckin A, I feel dirty.

***

BOTM Candidate #4 was submitted by… well, by the universe. His name is: John Scalzi. *boom* And the mic gets dropped.

John Scalzi, for those of you who don’t know, is some kind of pulp sci-fi writer and avowed male feminist icon, two things which ought not go together, and which probably explains the dire condition of modern sci-fi. He recently was the unwilling subject of a funny male feminist meme when a prankster, (not CH, for the record, though if Scalzi wants to publicize his humiliation, why stop him?), grabbed a photo of him in his Sunday finest and hoisted him by his own retard.

First thing that comes to mind when I look at that pic is whether he stuffs his bra, or if that’s natural. Next thing I wonder is if he’s pregnant. And, finally, if the dog ate his inflated blog stats.

Scalzi was so butthurt by this misappropriation of his militant male effeminacy, that he struck back with a resounding declaration of how little he cared that people were calling him a feminist. I mean, come on, the guy’s got 20,000 acres to sow his domesticated oats. How many acres do you own?

(How faggoty do you have to be to use a term like “dudebro”?)

Scalzi’s nom for BOTM was the result of his life’s work in support of a national gelding project for white men. Here, for instance, is Scalzi declaiming that anyone who mocks his milquetoast feminist orthodoxy is a “woman-fearing moron”. And here is his infamous “anti-racism” Yankee Poodle status-whoring heretic-hunting gibberish comparing life as a white man to a video game on the lowest difficulty setting. (Anyone know the racial composition of Scalzi’s neighborhood?)

Regarding that last linked post, if you plan to communicate with a eunuch nerd such as Scalzi, you have to speak the language of the eunuch nerd. Now it’s been a long time since I tapped a video game for love, but I recall that playing an RPG-style game on the easiest setting meant that you would earn experience points more slowly than a player playing at a higher difficulty setting. You would also earn less treasure, and less valuable treasure. So I suppose what our eunuch nerd is trying to say is that non-whites advance faster in their careers and make more money.

Of course, Scalzi’s whole premise is garbage of the smelliest kind, but that’s to be expected from a PC-drenched eunuch nerd who refuses to acknowledge that races differ biologically and thus that any resulting “privilege” one race has over another in a culture full of vibrant diversity is an organically emergent phenomenon necessarily caused by differing innate abilities. Never mind the broader implications undermining this “anti-privilege” moral posturing that nations are, almost by definition, political structures designed to privilege its citizens over non-citizens. And that, as families and individuals, we all are trying our best to privilege us and ours over everyone else. To do otherwise would be folly. Scalzi, perhaps you’d like to forfeit your privileged 20 acres for a mule?

Some may recall that Scalzi was the inspiration for this term of art coined by yours truly, (although King A has his crackpot legal team assembled to prove he deserves equal coinage credit):

Scalzied is similar to being afflicted with palsy. The body and mind contort to accommodate delusional pabulum.

Instead of picking one nauseatingly trademark example of Scalzi’s betatude from among the mountain of betatudination he has amassed, a feat which would require an immense amount of man hours, (a concept with which Scalzi, as a lurching nerd member in slouched standing of the Ascended Testes Society, would have no familiarity), the entire oeuvre of his betatude is here presented for consideration of his rightful place on the Throne of Manboobs. May he wear his crown of tampons well.

***

BOTM Candidate #5 was submitted by too many readers to count. A Polish woman of questionable allure wants to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for the ignominy of sleeping with 100,000 men. But since this contest is Beta of the Month, and not Mentally Deranged Slut of the Month, we have to read into the story a bit deeper to find our corrupted soul of a broken beta male.

Ania Lisewska, 21, is allegedly attempting to travel to every city in the world so she can have sex with at least 100,000 men for 20 minutes each.

A reader calculated this honorable goal to work out to 28 men per day, for ten pre-wall years, (that number will have to come down considerably, post-wall). About 9 hours of sex per day at 20 minutes per man.

“I want men from Poland, Europe and all around the world. I love sex, fun and men,” she said, according to the Austrian Times. “In Poland the subject of sex is still taboo and anyone who wants to fulfill their sexual fantasies is considered a deviant, a whore or mentally ill.”

A working definition of mentally ill is: Are you the only woman out of one million women who has this need?

The supposed sex marathon allegedly began last month in Warsaw, according to her Facebook page, and she hopes to have her way across Poland before moving to other countries.

So far, she’s had sex with 284 men, according to Fakt.pl and didn’t let the fact she has a serious boyfriend stop her.

He told the Polish language website he was “not thrilled” with her unusual hobby, but had no choice and “had to come to terms” with it.

There’s our beta.

The problem with stories like this one is the likelihood it’s a scam or a troll. However, if real, you have to give standing O beta props to this boyfriend who has “come to terms” with his girlfriend getting drilled like a Saudi oil field. And you can bet, despite subconscious misgivings, that feminists and their manboy lackeys, like “dudebro” above, will praise such a feeble, crooked specimen of manhood for his nonjudgmentalism and refusal to abide horrible double standards based in discredited biology.

I think that’s enough mucking around in filth for a day. To the vote… The Epic Showdown Beta of the Month is…Poetry slam boyman who rationalizes his friendzone fateHusband who gets divorce cake from crazy happy wife dreaming of alimonyDivorced man who gives godawful “suck it up” marriage adviceJohn ScalziBoyfriend of nympho who wants to bang 100,000 men on his watchVoteView ResultsPolldaddy.com

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A reader exploited the collected wisdom of Chateau Heartiste text game techniques and unloaded it all on one unsuspecting girl. Hilarity ensued. (The dude’s replies are in blue. Also, note the time stamps for even more yuks.)

After you’re done stitching up your split sides, take a moment to reflect on the two lessons offered by this romantic tete-a-tete.

1. There is such a thing as overgaming. Too much game, all at once, can make you seem unattainable. Or uninterested. Or clownish. Think of game as the large muscle groups of your body. Those showy guns are impressive, but without all the connective tissue, the skeletal frame, the ligaments and tendons, and the small stabilizer muscles, you aren’t doing much with those guns except blasting one giant cap before blowing out a knee. So you work on building up those “stabilizer” parts of your game, like your congruency, your inner calm, your attitude, your story-telling, your timing, your piecemeal vulnerability, your calculated relenting, your genuine displays of interest, etc…

HOWEVER…

2. Notice that even this funnyman’s blatant disregard of the rule against overgaming doesn’t kill his chances with the woman, who is obviously committed to the conversation and unable to fully extract herself in a face-saving manner. Her replies have all the tells of a woman who is absolutely intrigued by the man who taunts her:

– correcting her own grammar mistakes
– prompt replies to his delayed replies
– her tacit admission that she would like to be invited by him somewhere in the future
– her yearning to know what he means by his cryptic texts (“Movies?”)
– the large discrepancy in text lengths (she must write twenty words for every one of his)
– the inability to stop replying to his texts, even when his texts began veering into absurdity. (a sincerely uninterested woman stops replying after the first or second go-round)

The truth that keeps rearing its ugly face is this: If you, as a man, set yourself apart from the beta male masses, no matter how outrageous your cocky assholery, you will swim in a sea of pussy. At the least, you will have dropped your oars into that sea, while the betas are high and dry, watching you sail off from afar.

End of debate. Ladies, you only have your tingles to blame for the men you escort to your beds.

PS I got an extra belly laugh from this part:

“Sorry I require effort. Not a call girl or 22 years old anymore. Was fun when I was but that’s all done now. … No longer the girl who goes to hang while you DJ then I get drunk then you fuck me after.”

:lol:

It’s always those post-peak nubility women with slutty pasts who “require effort”. Sorry. If you want “effort”, you have to be worth it. Effort, like respect, must be earned. And a former “alpha fux, beta bux” party girl on the downslope of her beauty career nursing regrets about having given it away for free to DJs when she was younger, hotter, tighter is not a prize that many men with options will put much effort into wooing.

Be happy you got a “8====D”.

[crypto-donation-box]

The Wickedest Links

1. “[Taleb’s] antifragility not only resembles Game, it describes Game, and to a certain extent, it even explains why Game is so effective.”

2. “At that moment, I wondered if I was the only one of my group who hated with everything in my heart the slimy hypocrites around me.”

3. “The best map ever made of America’s racial segregation libertarian bubbles.”

4. “This threatpoint gives leverage to women in a marriage, giving her unilateral control over the future of the commitment.”

5. Commenter to Amanjaw Marcuntte: “In other words, Massachusetts profiles.”

6. “Brookings, like any not-for-profit organization, survives through contributions. And it is a fact of life that these organizations cannot afford to do many, if any, studies that are counter to the goals of the donors.

7. “and that’s the part that the happy leftists are missing from their thinking [sic] about epigenetics. epigenetics is obviously some sort of adaptation… so it must be coded for in our genes somewhere. that methylation happens to alter the expression of genes isn’t some miracle, however amazing it may be. it’s coded for.”

8. “If she moved into your apartment sans a ring, you’re better off than married folk in the happiness department, new research suggests.”

9. Opt out of global data surveillance programs.

10. “They had every Facebook post I had ever made in a huge file, along with all my wife’s information, and parent’s information,” As Vox says, your two choices when under assault by a power-hungry Big Brother 1984-ish surveillance state are either go dark, or go disinformation. Or, like CH, do both.

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The Cuckold Fetish Epidemic

Have testosterone levels fallen so far, so fast, that men are now down with doing the equivalent of sitting in a corner and watching their wives rut with better men? Does the fapping feel better when lubed with their salty cuckold tears?

askjoe pithily remarks,

Hey, my wife wants to hang out with some guy who’s on tv, maybe I should tag along, what?

Something is going very wrong with Western white male culture. The signs are everywhere. Manboobs to the left of me, male feminists to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with SWPL “anti-racists”. It’s as if a giant cosmic vacuum has hoovered the manly essence from every white man’s nut sack and left a dangly wrinkled uvula in place of their scrotums.

As orc armies vault over the Cathedral’s two-inch fortress walls, as subversives and traitors stockpile the airwaves with lies so egregious they border on farce, as drone operators and internal spies use the Bill of Rights as toilet paper, white men valiantly respond to the crisis in their nation’s character by hoisting their battle flag and….

bending over so that their enemies may have the pleasure of ramming it as far up their rectums as propriety will allow. And in this gleeful anti-white male climate, that’s a lot of ramming.

Forget about inflection points. Western white men have passed the insertion point.

[crypto-donation-box]

Think about the ecumenical change in society that, intuitively, must be happening with the widespread use of various hindbrain altering drugs, like the Pill and antidepressants. This is a change in biochemistry unparalleled in human evolutionary history. It’d be a miracle of serendipity if there weren’t blowback.

A reader surmises,

Great site. Good advice. But …

There is something to be said for all the anti-depressants/mood stabilizers/whatevers that women are taking these days. And I mean, a LOT of women on are on these psych drugs. You’re asking me so what, right? Well …

A lot of a man’s behavior toward women rests on the presumption (truth) that women are insecure and may get depressed at times, and when they do, they choose a man that has been solid for them. They either choose one, confide in the one they “love” or return to one. BUT, with these drugs, I think a lot of their negative feelings are prevented, making them less vulnerable.

It’s something I’ve noticed among professional women. Sure, maybe my game isn’t what it was, but I think it’s worth addressing. Women’s drugs are changing the game a little bit.

An interesting hypothesis we have here, and one that may go a ways to explaining why there is a growing impression among American men that their women are becoming manlier, sluttier, present-time oriented, and all-around less provocatively charming.

Here’s a lovefact sure to torque a feminist’s fat hamster into a tailspin:

Maxim #27: Beyond beauty, a woman’s attractiveness to men is partly a function of her feminine vulnerability, or her ability to mimic feminine vulnerability.

Corollary to Maxim #27: Men are turned off by overconfident, assertive, proudly self-sufficient women.

Yep, despite the delusional claptrap that feminists want the world to believe, men don’t swoon for women who act like men. Non-manboobed men with hanging testicles don’t, at any rate. Invulnerability is not sexy on women.

Men, at least K-selected men from the frigid Northlands where the cold winds blow and nothing grows for six months, are hard-wired with a protection instinct. We want to guard the carriers of our kingly posterity.

Evolution, therefore, has ensured that men respond viscerally to beautiful, weak women needing protection. A woman in need rallies a man’s ready seed.

Enter antidepressants. Suddenly women all over the sub-veneer tribal landscape are feeling invincible, unstoppable, and perfectly capable on their own. “No means no, creeper!” The manly protective (beta) instinct which warms the hearts of biochemically natural women leaves SSRI drugged-up simulacra of women feeling indifferent, even antagonistic, to the same signals of stoically masculine benefaction.

Multiply this effect a hundredfold in the homeland of the SWPL: The big blue whitening cities of the coasts, where every vibrantly atomized lawyercunt and her bovine cockblock are hopped up on happy happy happy pills. No joke, I’d bet 80% of Obama Country college-grad white chicks are dazed and confused with the help of Big Father Pharma. That percentage jumps to 99% when you expand the age range to include spinsters with two or more cats aka alpha male substitutes.

All successful game requires, in lesser or greater dose, the deployment, consciously or otherwise, of psychological tactics which raise the man’s relative status, lower the woman’s relative status, or both. This is a fact of the nature of the sexes, and it exists because the lifeblood of lust is fed to men and women by different veins. What excites a woman — the challenging company of a higher value, dominant man — is different than what excites a man — the company of a coy, vulnerable, pretty woman. You can rail to the ends of the earth about this fallen state of humanity, but you will never change it, not as long as there are two sexes evolved with differing reproductive goals.

It makes sense, then, that drugs which create a disturbance in the sexual polarity force would also have a downstream effect on courtship, both the traditional and the modern game styles of mate acquisition. A less vulnerable-feeling woman is a woman less receptive to beta provider game, and — this is getting deep into CH theory of modern dating dynamics territory — more receptive to sexy alpha bounder game.

An artificially happy and confident woman is, in short, a no-game-having beta male’s worst nightmare.

(A few of you wags might say that SSRIs are helping turn the US from a Euro mating market to an African mating market, where sky high self-esteem absent any supporting evidence is the norm.)

As a visionary acolyte of Le Chateau, you want to know how to make this new social reality work for you. (Some of you want to change it back to where it was before it turned wicked, but that is a concern for wise old men with rerouted energies.) A good start is dread game, which is the seducer’s answer to invulnerable women.

Some other proto-men, like the scalzied followers of male feminists, take the opposite tack, and submit themselves completely to the whim of Tsarina Bombas, in hopes, apparently, that their utter prostration would excite in women the pity fuck compulsion before it triggers their active repulsion reflex.

A specific skill of modern seduction, as channeled through game, will therefore need to be (sadly from a certain perspective) the ability to evoke, in pinprick psychological jabs, sadness, fear, worry and self-doubt in the Happy Harlots of Late Hour America. If you lack this skill, you’ll find more cynical men stealing your lamb meat off your white linened table.

Or, you could just wait out the coming collapse in your Galtian gulch, and watch the feckless loverboys starve in the streets live-streamed, as the newly vulnerable women rediscover the value of your warm hearth. But by that time, you’ll have stuccoed the entirety of your masturbatorium.

The antidepressant ruination of American women is a theory worth investigating, particularly in light of observational evidence in favor. Perhaps enterprising readers will unearth studies which connect the dots. Or perhaps they’ll just say “what the fuck”, and give the Supergirls a double dose of ego-smashing sexytime.

[crypto-donation-box]

Prepare to glimpse into the belching maw of the Dystopia Abyss…

‘For reasons unfathomable to the court,’ BethMarie Retamozzo, 34, ‘would rather have [her boyfriend] in her life than to reunite with her children,’ judge wrote in Aug. 8 order.

The background:

A white single mom (if photo is accurate) has amassed a grand total of seven children by at least three different men, one white, one hispanic, one black.

This model mom is trying to regain custody of two of her bastard spawn, who are now under the care of her parents.

Her current boyfriend is a Class A badboy who has hit one of the kids with a belt and exposed himself to another.

She ignored her own protection order which she had against her boyfriend to be with him, and lied to the court about it, thus violating a court order barring the boyfriend from being present during her visits with the children.

WIth the help and/or incompetence of her visit supervisor/landlord, single mom abducts her kids and heads for a truck stop in South Carolina, where cops eventually catch up with her thanks to the trail of texts she sent to her boyfriend along the entire trip.

This is dysgenic idiocracy accelerated to warped speed. Every one of these losers is a cancer feeding on the soul of a once-healthy culture, which we all pay for the pleasure. And the elite, safely ensconced behind private schools, egregious zoning laws and sky high rents, mock from a safe distance, unwilling or unable to grasp how their policies and ideological pronouncements encourage the downward spiral, or how their sanctuaries shrink by the day, their overrun imminent.

I met an orphan from a deracinated land
Who said, ‘A mother and a judge in robes
Stand in family court. Near them at the table,
Half mad, a sadistic lawyer lies, whose greed
And rubbing hands and sneer of cold command
tell that its benefactor well its interests read
Which yet survive, stamped on these broken wards,
The handout that enslaves them and the heart that is bled.
And on the chamber door these words appear:
‘My name is Feminism, daughter of Equalism:
Look on my works, ye merry, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that cultural wreck, shameless and bare,
The lone and empty homes stretch far away”.

[crypto-donation-box]

Hitler Was Beta

A recently published book by an old friend of Hitler’s called “The Young Hitler I Knew” offers amazing insight into Hitler’s personality and early life as a romantic teenager. Evidence surfaces that Hitler was (though the author never states it outright), by disposition or by experience, a beta male with a bad case of one-itis and zero game who pedestalized women.

Kubizek’s uncensored account throws a fascinating light on the fanatical mind of the future Fuhrer.

For it contains, for the first time, the full story of Hitler’s teenage obsession with a pretty girl called Stefanie Isak, whose surname has clear Jewish origins.

And although Hitler’s distinguished biographer Sir Ian Kershaw has rightly dismissed Hitler’s feelings for Stefanie as ‘a juvenile infatuation’, the passion with which Hitler stalked her and fantasised about kidnapping and committing suicide with her lets us glimpse the mentality of the person he was destined to become.

Furthermore, August Kubizek’s account reveals that Hitler was utterly unconcerned as to whether the girl after whom he lusted was Jewish or not.

Those “juvenile infatuations” are not to be underestimated in their power as origin sources of a man’s lifelong character; for from those experiences a man holds his deepest, most cherished or most regretted memories, and the shadow of their mark haunts him for life. Now let’s contemplate the evidence for Hitler’s betaness in the following account of his courtship rituals:

Kubizek dates Hitler’s infatuation with Stefanie, which lasted four years, from the beginning of his 16th year, to an evening in the spring of 1905 when they went out for a stroll in the Landstrasse in Linz: “Adolf gripped my arm and asked me excitedly what I thought of that slim, blonde girl walking along arm-in-arm with her mother. ‘You must know, I?m in love with her,’ he added resolutely.”

Kubizek recalled that Stefanie Isak, he didn’t reveal her surname during the Third Reich years when the book was published under strict censorship, for obvious reasons, was a distinguished-looking girl, tall and slim.

“Her eyes were very beautiful, bright and expressive. She was exceptionally well-dressed and her bearing indicated that she came from a good, well-to-do family.”

Yet that was all the two teenagers knew about Stefanie to begin with, so they took to standing in a nearby street every evening at five o’clock, waiting for her to walk over the bridge to the main square.

“It would have been improper to address Stefanie,” recalled Kubizek, “as neither of us had been introduced to the young lady. A glance had to take the place of a greeting. From then on, Adolf did not take his eyes off Stefanie. In that moment he was changed, no longer his own self.” For someone who despised and denounced the social conventions of the bourgeoisie, Hitler conformed to them rather meekly when it came to Stefanie, possibly out of stultifying shyness.

Hitler’s game so far: Shy glances.

The Landstrasse was a favourite place for friends to meet in Linz. “There was a lot of flirting and the young Army officers were particularly good at it,” remembered Kubizek.

It would infuriate Hitler whenever he spotted young officers talking to Stefanie. His friend sympathised: “Poor, pallid youngsters like Adolf naturally cannot compete with these lieutenants in their smart uniforms.” Instead of trying to engage her interest and attention through the exercise of charm or humour, however, Hitler simply fumed in the shadows. “Conceited blockheads,” he would say of his rivals.

Hitler the emo.

Kubizek wrote that Hitler’s hatred of them led to his “uncompromising enmity towards the officer class as a whole, and everything military in general. It annoyed him intensely that Stefanie mixed with such idlers who, he insisted, wore corsets and used scent”.

Hitler’s dislike and distrust of the officer class, especially generals, was to stay with him for the rest of his life.

Hitler the bitterboy beta. Instead of learning from his alpha male betters, he lashed out at them, much the same way our modern manboobs lash out at alpha male “douchebags” and “players”.

Fortunately, as she chatted happily with her Austrian officer beaux, the 17-year-old Stefanie, who Kubizek recalled had a “natural and open expression” as well as “a freshness and lack of affectation”, had no inkling that she was being stalked by Hitler.

Hitler the creeper.

Kubizek states: “Stefanie had no idea how deeply Adolf was in love with her; she regarded him as a somewhat shy, but nevertheless remarkably tenacious and faithful, admirer.

Hitler in the friendzone.

“When she responded with a smile to his inquiring glance, he was happy and his mood became unlike anything I had ever observed in him.

Hitler the overly hopeful beta.

“But when Stefanie, as happened just as often, coldly ignored his gaze, he was crushed and ready to destroy himself and the whole world.”

Hitler the easily discouraged beta.

Hitler soon set Kubizek to discover everything he could about Stefanie. Her mother, it turned out, was a widow and they lived in nearby Urfahr, while her brother was a law student in Vienna.

Hitler the obsessed beta.

For those four years between the ages of 16 and 20, “for Adolf, no other woman but Stefanie existed”, since for him, “Stefanie embodied the whole of femininity”.

Hitler with crippling one-itis. If CH had been around then for Hitler to read, he would know that women are interchangeable, and he would not have wasted so much time on a girl who barely knew he existed.

This enthusiasm took the form of writing “countless love poems” to Stefanie, with titles such as Hymn To The Beloved.

Ugh. As you can see, even maniacal dictators with dreams of world conquest can fall into the same horrible beta traps as your typical weepy 21st century brooding teen boy with xVideos tabbed for convenience. If only Hitler had the compiled wisdom of CH, he would remember the maxim that you do not reward a woman with your love until after she has rewarded you with her sex.

Perhaps it is fortunate they no longer exist, as Kubizek recalls Hitler reciting one to him in which “Stefanie, a high-born damsel, in a dark blue, flowing velvet gown, rode on a white steed over the flowering meadows, her loose hair falling in golden waves on her shoulders; a clear blue sky was above; everything was pure, radiant joy.”

Kubizek remembered “Adolf?s face glowing with fervent ecstasy” as he recited these verses. Yet in all the four years he worshipped Stefanie, Hitler never once plucked up the courage actually to exchange a single word with her. He insisted that once he met her, no words would be needed.

The elaborate fantasy world of the lovesick beta male. You know, a part of me feels not just pity, but even tender admiration, for young Hitler’s romantic idealism, so pure of thought and intention. This was a Hitler, however misguided, who denied a cynical world its tribute in parcels of his uncorrupted soul. How might things have turned out differently had a strong male presence — an alpha male mentor — shown him the way to fulfill his burning desire? Or at least told him to stop acting like a tool?

“For such extraordinary human beings as himself and Stefanie,” he told Kubizek, “there was no need for the usual communication by word of mouth: extraordinary human beings would understand each other by intuition.” Moreover, Hitler convinced himself not only that Stefanie knew what his views and ideas were, but also that she shared them enthusiastically. Such was the power of his crush on this unwitting girl that he even believed her capable of telepathy.

The young beta, before time and painful lessons have turned him bitter, is prone to these flights of ego-soothing fancy, whereby amorphous “connections” of the most tenuous nature with his love object become rationalizations for inaction and unrealistic expectations of a future together.

When Kubizek expressed doubt that Hitler could possibly know what Stefanie thought about anything, considering they hadn’t yet spoken, “he became furious and shouted at me: ‘You simply don’t understand, because you can’t understand the true meaning of extraordinary love’.”

Can’t you just imagine an American teenage boy, with little understanding of the nature of women, saying these exact words to his street smart buddy, or his patient father?

Hitler also somehow convinced himself that Stefanie was feigning interest in other men “as a sort of deliberate diversion to conceal her own tempestuous feelings for him”.

Nonetheless, “this attitude often gave way to fits of raging jealousy”.

We’re veering into almost omega male territory here. Can a school shooting be far behind?

What he never summoned up the courage to do was simply introduce himself to Stefanie’s mother on one of their walks and ask permission to escort them and address her daughter, which was the accepted way of effecting a meeting in those days.

To be fair to Hitler, it was a lot tougher to pick up a girl in his time. Could you picture some video gamer bro having to introduce himself to a girl’s mother to get in a word with the girl?

Hitler was disturbed when he discovered Stefanie enjoyed dancing, which was “as contrary to his nature as smoking or drinking beer in a bar”. Kubizek half-jokingly suggested he take up dancing lessons, and suddenly their walks were no longer dominated by his long diatribes about the theatre or Danubian bridges, but instead by the subject of dancing.

“Visualise a crowded ballroom,” Hitler said to Kubizek, “and imagine you are deaf. You can’t hear the music to which these people are moving, and then take a look at their senseless progress, which leads nowhere. Aren’t these people raving mad?” When Kubizek attempted to disagree, Hitler screamed at him: “No, no, never! I shall never dance! Do you understand? Once Stefanie is my wife, she won’t have the slightest desire to dance!”

Here we see another facet of the beta male mind: The strict adherence to logic and linearity, and the inability to go with the flow. A great seducer of women Hitler was not, at least not then, or he would have known that the art of courtship involves emotional tangents that can seem confusing to men, but are nourishing and necessary to women.

It was in the depression brought on by the news of Stefanie’s love of dancing that the Hitler of the future can suddenly be discerned: “He hit upon a crazy idea: he seriously considered kidnapping Stefanie. He expounded his plan to me in all its details and assigned to me my role. I had to keep the mother engaged in conversation while he seized the girl.”

This is what rejected beta males thought about doing before they had access to internet porn.

After this plot was abandoned for lack of funds to live on after their elopement, Hitler considered suicide. “He would jump into the river from the Danube bridge,” he told Kubizek, “and then it would be over and done with. But Stefanie would have to die with him”, he insisted on that.

“Once more, a plan was thought up, in all its details. Every single phase of the horrifying tragedy was minutely described.”

What’s worse than a beta male? A beta male with a psychopath’s eye for detail.

However, before any desperate plan could be carried out against Stefanie, Hitler’s mood brightened. In June 1906, at the Linz flower festival, he and Kubizek took up places in a street, the Schmiedtorstrasse, which was so narrow, the festival carriages full of girls and young ladies had to pass close to them.

“Stefanie had adorned her carriage not with roses as most of the others, but with simple wild blossoms: red poppies, white marguerites and blue cornflowers,” recalled Kubizek. “A bright glance falls on Adolf. Stefanie sends him a beaming smile and, picking a flower from her posy, throws it to him.”

The effect on Hitler was transforming. “Never again did I see Adolf as happy as at that moment.”

“She loves me!” he told his friend. “You have seen! She loves me!”

This is how beta orbiters are born and maintained in their orbital flight paths. Stefanie probably wasn’t even aware of what she was doing; she was following an unconscious evolutionary script that maximized her extraction of emotional resources from a beta swooner.

[Hitler] had an absurdly idealised view of this pretty but otherwise normal Austrian teenager, and, as Kubizek understood, “the slightest divergence from this picture would have filled him with unspeakable disappointment”.

Now you know why the archipelago of misfit manboobs, male feminists, slam poets, game denialists, and suck-up white knights are so vehemently enraged when a realtalker like yours truly comes along to put the screws to their carefully mani-pedi’ed worldview. They have too much invested in their powerlessness.

In fact, it later transpired that, despite her surname, Stefanie was not Jewish. But crucially, Hitler and Kubizek did not know this at the time, signifying that the future perpetrator of the Holocaust had no animus against Jews as a young man.

Did he therefore cynically invent his hatred of Jews as a useful vehicle for gaining power in post-Great War Germany? This explanation is even more sinister than any of the myriad others as to where and when he contracted the bacillus of anti-Semitism.

Or perhaps, even more sinisterly, Hitler became the man he did when, as a young man in the grip of hot unrequited love, his Jewish princess “rejected” him for the charming alpha males Hitler despised. What followed from that irreparable wound to his heart was an act of id vengeance that would set fire to the world. Was WWI then, the revenge of a beta male scorned?

Chateau Heartiste has written that game can save the West. Disbelievers scoff. But if this outpost of sanity had been around during Hitler’s flowering youth to enlighten him about the nature of the fairer sex, the West might very well have been saved. Saved not just from war and genocide, but from every evil — cultural Marxism, feminism, equalism, and now racial self-annihilationism — that has come after.

[crypto-donation-box]

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