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The Greatest Gift You Can Give Your Girlfriend

Jul 19th, 2013 by

…is keeping her away from her fat friends.

I’ve seen it happen too many times, the slender girlfriend of the happy man — attending an endless procession of house parties with an expanding (heh) circle of girl friends slowly but surely piling on the pounds month by month, year by year — suddenly wakes up one morning to notice her muffin top has rolled over and her boyfriend’s eyes have glazed over.

You have one duty ladies… ONE. Stay thin and sexy. And yet so many of you can’t seem to manage that simple fucking thing. We lenient gentlemen of the jury aren’t asking for much. We don’t care if you drive a sports car. We don’t expect you to climb the soul-killing corporate ladder. We don’t give a flying fig if you went to grad school. We don’t inexplicably lose our interest if you happen to get overly affectionate. We don’t burden you with demands for more commitment or drill you for opinions about how our butts look in these jeans. We instead ask for simple things from you, such as a refusal to turn into this:

Men, you can help your lover stay thin by keeping her the hell away from her fat and feminist girl friends. Her fat friends will infect her with their fat disease, through some poorly understood mechanism of orca osmosis, and like fatty fat fatass pockmarked dominoes one after another thin girl will get knocked down, until not a single height-weight proportionate babe is left standing. You think I’m joking? Nope, ♥SCIENCE♥ has found that obesity is socially contagious.

Her feminist friends will infect her with the mind diseases of nonjudgmentalism, beauty equalism and loathing of male desire, all of which are the psy-ops trifecta for brainwashing a girl against her man and turning her into a ham-shaped self-entitlement cartoon.

Relationship management takes work. But men don’t need to make it harder than it needs to be. An easy intervention that will improve relationship health and harmony is staring men in the face. Give your girl the gift of lithe. Cast her BBBFFers to the icy wastelands.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Hope and Change, Hungry Hungry Hippos, The Pleasure Principle, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Marriage Down, Ho’s Up

Jul 19th, 2013 by

New research examining marital patterns in the Disunited States is out, and it’s not looking good for the nuptial blissers (or for the civilization gatekeepers).

Marriage Rate Lowest in a Century

Fewer women are getting married and they’re waiting longer to tie the knot when they do decide to walk down the aisle. That’s according to a new Family Profile from the National Center for Family and Marriage Research (NCFMR) at Bowling Green State University.

According to “Marriage: More than a Century of Change,” the U.S. marriage rate is 31.1, the lowest it’s been in over a century. That equals roughly 31 marriages per 1,000 married women. Compare that to 1920, when the marriage rate was a staggering 92.3.

Since 1970, the marriage rate has declined by almost 60 percent. “Marriage is no longer compulsory,” said Dr. Susan Brown, co-director of the NCFMR. “It’s just one of an array of options. Increasingly, many couples choose to cohabit and still others prefer to remain single.”

Furthermore, a woman’s average age at first marriage is the highest it’s been in over a century, at nearly 27 years old. “The age at first marriage for women and men is at a historic highpoint and has been increasing at a steady pace,” states Dr. Wendy Manning, co-director of the Center.

Well, that’s one way to avoid the temptation to cheat and deep six your marriage: Get married when you’re older and have fewer sexual market options.

There has also been a dramatic increase in the proportion of women who are separated or divorced. In 1920, less than 1 percent of women held that distinction. Today, that number is 15 percent. “The divorce rate remains high in the U.S., and individuals today are less likely to remarry than they were in the past,” reports Brown.

Welcome to the Eat, Pray, Love iteration of America: E – Eat ourselves to death. P – Pray we still got it. L – Love our cats.

The marriage rate has declined for all racial and ethnic groups, but the greatest decline is among African Americans. Similarly, the education divide in marriage has grown. In the last 50 years there have been only modest changes in the percentage of women married among the college educated and the greatest declines among women without a high school diploma.

It’s ironic that the pointless lib-arts over-education that correlates with women getting married also correlates with them staying childless. Meanwhile, Clevon and Anfernee pop out ten parasites by their single mom weekday flings. What was the whole point of marriage, again? To encourage and sanctify responsible procreation and child-rearing, right? No, no, how silly of me. Times have changed. Marriage is now all about celebrating multiple forms of love, like butthex and cuckold fetishism and, coming soon to a Detroit near you, polygamy.

Was Idiocracy just about the most prescient movie ever made?

None of this depressing news should be any surprise to regular guests of Le Chateau. We were the first to make the connection between the social rot and the Six Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse, and we will be the first to rub it in the faces of the lords of lies when this whole shit show comes perilously close to oozing in on their guarded gated communities.

In silver lining news, casual, no strings attached sex with smart, sassy white chicks has never been easier to get.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Goodbye America, Marriage Is For Chumps, The Pleasure Principle, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Measures Of Fuckability

Jul 18th, 2013 by

Reader “Mr.C” writes,

One measure of Fuckability: How long you are prepared to wait in order to fuck her.

True, but how does one square this with the alpha male imperative to seal the deal in three dates or fewer?

The Three Date Rule isn’t binding. It’s best thought of as a hedge against developing one-itis or getting taken to the Tenth Circle of Blue Ball Hell by a cockteaser, where you drown in a sea of unexpelled sperm.

There are indeed scenarios where an alpha male might wait quite a while (relative to his normal allowance for waiting) to bang a glorious hottie. The crucial difference between an alpha male and a beta male waiting for a girl to put out is that the alpha usually has other irons in the fire and waiting for sex is his prerogative, while the beta has no one else and waiting for sex is his sufferance. And women can sense this differing weight of alpha vs beta male expectation. They sniff it out like dogs picking up wet poop in the air.

Naturally, men will be more inclined to invest their time and energy into a pretty girl than a plain girl. And their investment will rise in accord with reassuring signals of payout. That is, a girl who is making it obvious by her anticipatory behavior that she’s working hard to restrain herself in your company is a girl whose coyness you’d be more willing to accommodate.

So what are some other Measures of Fuckability (MOFs)?

– Amount spent on girl.
– Ratio of eye-to-eye contact to sidelong glances cast at other women walking by.
– Number of hours (or days) before scheduled date that the man thinks about the date.
– Boner triggers. Does smelling her intoxicating ovulatory aroma trigger a boner? High MOF. Does she need to wrap her lips around your schlong to coax a chub? Low MOF.
– Amount of feminist blather man is willing to tolerate.
– Degree of stupidity man is willing to tolerate.
– Rapidity with which man leaves post-coitus. Does he linger past brunch? High MOF. Is he out the door as the last spurt is settling in a flesh nook? Low MOF.
– Inducement to showcase his conquest. Is the man scheming to be seen in public with his lover? High MOF. Is he making excuses to her about having a rare allergy to sunlight *and* moonlight? Low MOF.
– Yes-man to No-man ratio. Being a yes-man = High MOF. Being a no-man = Low MOF. (Game-aware men subvert this tendency.)
– Fap to fuck ratio. If you’re fapping more than fucking your girl, LOW MOF.
– Porn to foreplay ratio. If you’re spending more hours watching porn than engaging in sexy foreplay with your girl, LOW MOF.
– Video gaming to fucking idle thoughts ratio. Extremely low MOF if time spent thinking about vidga gaming is more than time spent thinking about fucking your girl. (Actual time will vary regardless of MOF level, because GUILD WARS.)
– The degree to which an undersexed game hater resents your date for throwing into stark relief the dumpy frumpiness of his wife or girlfriend. More resentment = higher MOF of your date. You lucky dog! Banging a hottie *and* driving an old skooler traddork to histrionics!

Author note: The longest yer humble Chateau proprietor has waited for a bang was five dates, not counting those first tentative steps toward poosy paradise at the tender age of [REDACTED ON ORDER OF CPS] when yer humble pubescent pioneer had nothing but his wits and an untrained, if keen, power of observation to guide him.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

Playing Mind Games With Feminists

Jul 17th, 2013 by

Reader “A G” gleefully proposes a psychological torture mechanism to send feminists writhing in paroxysms of hamster-rending pain.

How to destroy a Cathedral feminist’s brain with two simple questions:

1. Doesn’t it suck that racist white people, any time they see a black person walking the streets late at night, automatically fear that person because they think black people are more likely to be thugs?  Obvious manifestation of white privilege.

2. Doesn’t it suck that sexist women, any time they see a man walking the streets late at night, automatically fear that person because they think men are more likely to be rapists?  Obvious manifestation of female privilege.

Inspired by a facebook friend who literally wrote a post stating that white privilege is the reason white people often fear black people.

Masterful bait and switch. They’ll never see it coming.

On a more general note, AG illustrates one attack strategy that is effective against whiny, sophistic leftoids making appeals to empty emotion. The leftoid, as a species within which the feminist is a subspecie, has more of her ego invested in her ideology. It is her religion. This is why when leftoids and non-leftoids get in political arguments, it’s typically the non-leftoid making diplomatic half-apologies and concessions. The non-leftoid does not feel as strong an ego attachment to his ideology, because he assesses his value more broadly. The result of this personality difference is an arena of leftoids constantly on the attack, getting their way like children throwing tantrums under the weary authority of amiable parents.

A mocking shiv jab will hurt the leftoid feminist, but it will also cause her to retreat into a shell of platitudinal self-protection, and to ensconce herself in the group hug of trite-minded allies. Better is to flatter the feminist’s self-conception, and when her guard is down to rain a shivstorm of hell upon her vulnerable id. You can stab all day at the hardened ego, but a single killing blow to the id laid bare will send even the most obnoxious femcunts like Amanjaw Marcuntte slinking to dark bedrooms in silent shame and consideration of alternative life paths.

To defeat the leftoid, use their power against them. Shiv on, shiv off.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Feminist Idiocy, Psy Ops | Comments Off

Chicks Dig Jerks: The Truth Is Breaching Containment Zone

Jul 17th, 2013 by

Nigel Havers, a British TV actor, has some choice comments about the nature of female sexuality.

TV heart-throb Nigel Havers says women ‘never learn’ when it comes to men – because they cannot stop pursuing ‘cads’. […]

[Havers] finds out that his maternal great-great-grandfather, David Couch, had an illegitimate daughter with a 19-year-old servant girl.

Havers, 61, told the Radio Times: ‘You can’t help but think you’ve inherited some of their qualities. David was a bit of a cad, which is the sort of part I’ve played.

‘I made The Charmer in 1987, which was dangerous for me because I didn’t think viewers would warm to such a ghastly character. And yet the opposite happened. However evil he was, people liked him.

More precisely, men wanted to be him, women wanted him.

‘Throughout history women tend to like cads. They want to mother and change them. It’s exciting, but always ends in tears.

‘They don’t learn, do they? I don’t mean that in a sexist way. Some women prefer a stable life, but others love danger.’

He goes on to say that men love dangerous women, too, but that’s just CYA equalist squid ink, meant to appease feminist shrike censors. Men love hot women, and if they happen to be bitches, well… men won’t turn down a romp in the sack with them, though they will think twice about committing to them, and they certainly won’t rationalize their bitchiness like so many women rationalize the caddishness and assholery of jerks and terrorist bombers.

Women go out of their way to locate, identify and seduce jerks. Men do not go out of their way to locate, identify and seduce bitches. (Men will go out of their way to target sluts, nice or not.) Women love jerks *because* they’re jerks. Men will occasionally love hot bitches *despite* their bitchiness. If you need scientific evidence to corroborate everyone’s personal observation and age-old wisdom, the CH archives are filled with links to relevant studies.

What about the theory that women want to mother and change cads? There is something to this, but it’s not the primary urge that drvies women into the arms of unsavory men. The female love for jerks is, translated, a love for dominant men who, in the state of nature (and equally in the state of modern society), can protect them from invaders and sire sons who will inherit the same badboy pussy-collecting genes.

It’s helical imperatives all the way down.

But women also possess a compulsion to domesticate men who fall within their long-term seductive purview. It makes sense from an evolutionary perspective that women would serve their fitness-enhancing interests by cutting the nutsack off their conquests, lest valuable testosterone-y goodness is diverted to the project of further pussy plunder and away from amassing resources for her growing family.

But betas don’t inspire this womanly desire to geld, because betas already come packaged with nuts sold separately. Only cads and d-bags, nuts present and accounted for, send women swooning alternately between depths and heights of ecstatic submissive lust and egocentric lion taming. The lesson for the inveterate womanizer with love in his heart should be clear: Let her change only that about you with which you were already willing to part.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Reader Mailbag: A Mighty Fuck Given Edition

Jul 16th, 2013 by

What do you do when what you thought was a sure thing decides to play the game for keeps? A reader bemoans,

I fucked up. HB5.5 in my residency program wanted to fuck during orientation (last year). I brushed it off. However, I didn’t realize that this is fucking SF and the girls here are terrible. Got drunk with some other residents, gave her a call and said I wanted to bang. She’s playing it cool….too cool because I thought I was doing her a favor by throwing her a bone. Not sure if she over wanting the dick or playing hard to get. Cannot think of a respectable way out of this one, especially since word could get out to the rest of the group. In this particular group, reputation and status are extremely important. I don’t really care if I lose face with her.

HB 5.5. This is veering dangerously close to plain jane with stalker potential territory. The truly ugly girls know they don’t have a shot, and don’t bother obsessing over a crumb of attention they know isn’t going to materialize into a full man sandwich. But those girls who are right on the cusp of attractiveness — the 5.5s, for example — they can spin a smattering of alpha male attention into a fantasy world of romantic delusion.

Anyhow, lemme just quickly explain what’s going on this girl’s head. She knows from past experience your interest level isn’t high, and your recent motivation is drink and (probably) a dry spell. But her attraction for you is still strong, so she’s erecting a false bravado (aka female coyness) to ease her anti-slut conscience and maybe allow her the luxury of imagining she can raise your buying temperature by making you chase her a little.

You can play this game and achieve the bang by simply demonstrating some attainability that wasn’t there before, but that means a few dates with a 5.5 that will feel like wasted hours of your life once you’ve Jackson Pollacked her crevice. Also, you’ve got to keep in mind that your drunken pleading for sex lowered your relative value. The fastest way to give a girl hand is to confess in a moment of truth serum-y weakness that you need to get laid with her. So now you’ve got to tango with her like you would with a better looking woman, simply because you constructed a history with her that did your SMV no good.

If you want a way out, bang or no bang, my advice is to stop looking for a way out. Instead, ignore her and take some time off from what sounds like a very insular group to meet out-group women. The best ways out are sometimes found through ways into new women.

******

Reader #2 wishes to entertain us all.

hey  this is a poem i just wrote.

I read your site diligently.

So here it is.  Let me know what you think.

Here are the musings.
Of a sane man.
Argue they-n man
Large oracular, spectacular
vernacular. With back to her.
See me smackin’ her.
Take that from her

I am a cool, guy
Lost not frost. Shocked
we’re not talked.

there once was a lad named heartiste
whose rod was as wide as its reach
the throngs they be mirin
the panties retirin
and the wombs did accede to the breach

– excerpt from “Plato’s Republic”

******

The Rude Word of Game will infiltrate every kind of relationship, as reader #3 testifies,

Hello Heartiste,

I’m a 21 year old male who took the red pill a year ago. Recently, I have started trying to spread the teachings to family and friends who I think would be the most receptive, and have even gotten my (lifelong favorite) uncle on board with smashing the Cathedral.

However, my mother is very different, and I’m not sure what to do about her. She’s a perfect candidate for postmarital spinsterhood. She’s 41. She is fit and healthy, but aging has obviously not benefited her looks. She divorced from my father (her initiation) 6 years ago. She works at an investment firm, in what is essentially human resources. She lives alone in her own house and has it ornamented with typical feminine feel-good kitsch, such as the sign that says “Somewhere someone is looking for exactly what you have to offer.” Yes, it makes me die a little bit inside too.

Based on snippets of her own personal life that she’s told me, I have made the unsurprising inference, considering her post-Wall status, that she finds herself in an unsatisfactory dating situation; all the men she dates are either not attractive to her or, if attractive, they won’t give her the time of day. I understand what is obviously going on but that she isn’t going to see, being steeped in Eat Pray Love go-get-em grrrl culture as she is since her birth. An apt illustration: I saw that she had purchased Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In for her woman’s book club.

As she is my own mother, and despite it being more or less just desserts for divorcing my father (who is, we might say, embarrassingly beta), I am still troubled that she’s floundering in this situation, under the delusion that she stands a good chance of nabbing a man that both cares about her and she finds attractive. It is likely only a matter of time before she happens upon the manosphere (I blog under my own name, and I cover red pill topics) and sees what is to be said about her situation. My questions are these: How can I let her know about her situation? What can I do if/when she finds out, and especially if it occurs through my own writings? What can I expect for how this will change our relationship or my relationship with my family in general?

Call me old-fashioned, but I think referring to your mother and the wall in the same sentence is bad form. I guess that’s the kinder, gentler, thousand points of love Heartiste talking.

Your mother is in desperate straits, and is grasping for ego-assuaging platitudes as is the wont of the weaker, sheltered sex when their fading beauty betrays them to the mercy of an obtrusive, cruel sexual market reality. If she’s reading that vile trash “Lean In”, then she’s too far gone to benefit from the cleansing power of realtalk.

To your pertinent questions:

Are you really going to inform your mother that she’s a sexual has-been who must learn to settle if she ever wants to be with a man again? True or not, I’m guessing you don’t have the psychopathic stones to do that to her. However, CH does! So if she comes across this blog post, perhaps a light bulb will flicker and, allowing for a few weeks of tear-dreanched pillow theatrics and longing stares at pill bottles, will rouse herself to acceptance of inalterable circumstance and tackle with renewed seriousness a search for men who are reasonably within her sphere of SMV synchronization.

Buuuut I wouldn’t hold my breath. Settling is not something that comes easily to women, at any age.

Your mission, should you choose to inject it, is deliberate avoidance of any kind of feelgood pablum that will put a band-aid on your mom’s psychic wounds but leave them festering underneath. Your refusal to console her should be a loud enough message to her that you don’t suffer her unjustified entitlement gladly. If her best interest is really in your heart, use family and friends lifelines to locate and instigate liaisons between your mom and older, beta gentlemen she might reject under her past dating protocol but are in fact good matches for her according to universal laws of romantic compatibility. It sounds like your mom desires a bit of the ol’ funtime badboy, so if you know a man, late 50s to 60ish, with a heart of gold who rides motorcycles and has been in a brawl or two, he might be your winning ticket. Be warned you may have to dip down into the prole classes to find this man, given the effete state of SWPL-class men these days.

******

Email #4 comes from a girly girl,

I love your blog, even though it makes me wince sometimes (I’m a girl—I suppose the truth hurts). You probably don’t bother giving advice to women,

Untrue. A foul calumny!

but I’m compelled to try anyway because the female oriented relationship blogs are so awful.

True. A factual calumny.

I don’t know where else to go. Earlier this year I was involved with this guy from my hometown for a few months. I would see him when I went to visit my parents. He is a very alpha guy and I got attached to him fast. He eventually broke it off saying he didn’t want a LTR.

The three month mark is typically the hour of doom when alpha males uninterested in getting tied down break it off with girls.

When I told him I would likely be moving back to my hometown permanently (for job reasons, not for him)  he said, great.. when you’re back we’ll see where we are. I was a little hurt but I could see where he was coming from.

Aloof asshole off the starboard bow.

We’ve been keeping in touch by text since then, pretty much daily.

How long are his texts? Be honest.

Occasional phone calls. He is a classic alpha texter, infuriatingly short responses, careless spelling and punctuation, randomly drops out of conversations. Seriously, you could put him up on your blog as an example of alpha texting.

I should have read ahead!

Except for one thing– he will initiate if he hasn’t heard from me. I am not a crazy girl text terrorist, and when he goes off radar I’m pretty good at leaving him alone, but I always get the “what’s going on” text from him in a day or two if he hasn’t heard from me.

This is a good sign. He’s thinking about you. Or, less charitably, he doesn’t have another girl in his life to distract him.

He’s not into sexual banter but he likes to tease me about nonsexual things (I’m a klutz, I’m too gullible, etc.).

Cooties game.

He’s told me some surprisingly personal stuff too.

Vulnerability game.

So I am moving back home next week and I just heard (not from him) that he’s seeing someone now. I’m so sad about this.  I am crazy attracted to this guy and I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like we got a little closer through our “text friendship” these last few months.

It’s not stupid. As a human being, you project your sensibilities onto the opposite sex. As a woman, you value emotional connection more than sexual connection. So “text friendships” naturally mean a lot more to you than they do to him. But this deep state knowledge means you no longer have an excuse to persist in your happy delusions. You have to look reality square, and adjust accordingly.

I really like him. I want to start seeing him for real after I move…. and I was hoping he wanted that too. My friends  say he’s already rejected me for a RL and if I want to revive things I have to go no-contact for a while so he misses me.

Your friends are on the right track, even if their reasoning is flawed. Better still, start seeing other men, and make sure it hits the grapevine. This radio silence strategy won’t work as well for you as it would for a man, but it will work a little.

They say I was too available, even if it was by text… this is the classic female-blogger “rules” advice, as you probably know.

It’s not your availability that was the problem; it’s the OTHER WOMAN’s availability that’s the problem.

So I have a couple questions, and I know you’ll give me the truth:  (1) Can I assume he’s still somewhat interested, since he stayed in touch?

Yes, but it’s a threadbare assumption. If the other girl is better looking (tough pill to swallow for you, I know, but you have to face up to this possibility if you want a way forward), then his interest has plummeted because he’s getting what he wants. Not much you can do under that circumstance unless you’re down for a casual sideshow fling, or by some miracle the other girl turns out to be a psycho and he begins to miss your comparatively calming presence. Many men will keep up contact with past flames because they are practicing the age-old tactic of hedging their bets. See: Poon Commandment VII.

(2) Would being aloof and unavailable have ANY effect at all here, particularly if he’s seeing someone?

Probably not, if the looks differential between you and the other woman is significant. If, however, you and the other girl are equally pretty, then a disappearing act punctuated by occasional tacit reminders of your allure might help keep his interest at a slow burn.

Would anything help?

Dress hot when you’re around him. Be seen getting hit on by other men. Get in better shape (if there’s room for improvement). Fire up the rumor mill that you’re seeing someone. Master the feminine art of ambiguity (an art co-opted by male seducers) and curtness in your texts and conversations with him; don’t be nasty, be inscrutable. Be nice, but be taciturn, even business-like. You want him thinking you have options, and that you may be exercising those options, and that his company, while pleasing, doesn’t rock your world like it used to.

This is the best advice I can give you, and I give it with the warning that you shouldn’t expect much. The nature of male and female sexual dynamics precludes the possibility that the advice which works so well for men will work equally well for women. And another warning: Even should the advice “work” — that is, the other girl splits with him and he tumbles into bed with you — know that you will be second-best in his eyes if the other girl inspired harder, longer, thicker boners in him. I hate to get crude with such an earnest woman as yourself, but it’s necessary to illuminate the foundation of muck that supports the dreamy romantic idylls we all have a penchant for building around our egos.

If it matters, you can assume I’m hotter than the girl he’s seeing and that he does have a reputation for being playerish– although he has had several long term relationships.

I will take your word. If this is so, my advice above should work quite well. You may want to signal a little more attainability than what I have implied above, if you are really a better specimen than his current lover. Given his player predilection, he should respond reflexively to girl game that stings his narcissism.

We’re about the same on the attractiveness scale; we both have options.

Is this attractiveness scale a looks-based one? If so, you should understand that men are judged by more criteria than their looks. If he’s a player, he’s charming. And the ladies love a charming rascal. So although you have punched in the numbers and run an algorithm that tells you his looks and your looks roughly match, the romantic reality can be skewed in his favor and to the benefit of raising his value above yours because his charm and mannerism can net him attention from higher value women that his looks alone can’t (at least for any kind of relationship longer than a night).

I know you’re busy and must get a million emails, but any advice or commentary would be really appreciated. Thanks!

One final thought. Some men, particularly those seeking long-term relationships, will settle for women a little less hot than what those men could get, or have historically gotten, in part as a defense mechanism against getting dumped or getting drama, in part because they perceive a slightly less physically intimidating woman a better bet as a loyal partner in long-time love. If this is the operative psychology in your scenario, then he may have, to borrow a well-worn and extremely irritating phrase from platitude-land, “moved on”.

Or: The dude might be in love. Best leave him to his happiness.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Reader Mailbag | Comments Off

Chicks Digging Jerks Goes Mainstream(ish)

Jul 15th, 2013 by

Michelle Malkin, a tawny-skinned rep of the right cute enough to inspire a Heartiste half-mast, has an article about the love that girls are showering on Boston Bomber Joker Tsarnaev, and on other assorted badboys and murderers. Note the very eeenteresting title of Malkin’s article:

America’s Sociopath Fetish: Chicks Dig Chechens And Other Killers

I would like to declare a war on women—namely, all those cringe-inducing ninnies who lust after every celebrity criminal defendant with big muscles, tattoos, puppy-dog eyes or Hollywood hair.

You know who I’m talking about, right? America’s Bad Boy groupies. They’re on the courthouse steps with their “Free Jahar” signs, cooing over how “hot” and “cute” the bloodstained Boston Marathon bombing suspect is. He “can blow me up with babies,” one moral reprobate quipped shortly after his capture. “I’m not gonna lie, the second bombing suspect, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, is hot. #sorrynotsorry,” another young girl boasted.

Now where have we seen that “Chicks Dig [Killers]” formulation before? Oh yeah.

I’m beginning to suspect, though the evidence is circumstantial, that some esteemed and popular pundits are regular snoopers of the Chateau. Naturally they will never own up to it, and you can’t blame them. If admitting to being influenced by an all-around decent guy like Steve Sailer gives them the hives, imagine what confessing to being a night visitor of this demonic lair would do for one’s cocktail circuit reputation. The stuff of status manicuring nightmares!

Michelle sounds like she’s losing faith in the sisterhood,

It would be one thing if these morally stunted followers segregated themselves in enclaves outside the American mainstream. But some of these damaged goods end up on juries, entrusted to weigh evidence fairly, digest complex instructions, and render impartial verdicts in matters of life and death. Indeed, they are aggressively sought after by predatory defense lawyers. I’ll never forget the female jurors of the first murder trial of confessed parent-killers Lyle and Erik Menendez. Star-struck by “glamorous” defense lawyer Jill Abramson, the women of the Menendez jury told Los Angeles reporters that “they admired her wardrobe and biting wit.”

Their swooning for the hunky Menendez brothers, whom they praised as “bright” and “nice,” was obscene. After a mistrial was declared, Abramson arranged for “her jurors” to meet the boys. Soon after, talk show queen Sally Jesse Raphael hosted a program on “women who would leave their husbands to marry a Menendez.”

From Menendez mania to Free Jahar, the pathologies persist: Easily led. Emotion-driven. Desperate for male approbation. Prone to acting with their lady parts instead of their lady smarts. Heckuva job, feminism!

The Cruel Word of CH is infiltrating the masses and spreading love like a bear digging for berries twixt Andrew Sullivan’s butt cheeks.

Lesson learned: You can indoctrinate generations of American women in the ways of gender empowerment, but you can’t make a goodly portion of them think straight. Hormones trump basic human decency and good judgment in the crowded coven of sociopaths.

Michelle demonstrates a willingness to grapple with the intractability of female sexual nature. She mocks the ineffectual feebleness of feminism to alter in any significant way the biologically inherent urges of women to crave the cold-blooded cocks of killers. In her mocking is a tacit admission that perhaps, just maybe, giving women the run of the place isn’t working out so well for civilization.

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Orwell, Updated

Jul 15th, 2013 by

Male is female. Observation is illusion. Diversity is strength.

If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the proles.

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Comment Of The Week: When It “Does Count”

Jul 14th, 2013 by

Anonymous (choose a handle you lazy bum) lists the stringent copulation criteria that would need to be met for a woman (or her hamster) to admit that the sex she was having “counts”.

Unless a girl has:

1. vaginal intercourse

2. with a guy

3. multiple times

4. over multiple days

a. that are not in a row

b. but are not separated by more than a month from each other

5. in her region of residence in her home country,

6. not during spring break or another vacation

7. while sober from alcohol and drugs, including legal prescriptions

“it doesn’t count”.

General Social Survey data experts are baffled that the face-to-face questioning the GSS utilizes yields inaccurate results about women’s sexual habits.

Maxim #101: The sluttier the girl, the more noticeably pregnant she’ll need to be before she admits to having had sex that “counts”.

Corollary to Maxim #101: Even then…. “Oh, it’s the way the shirt fits.”

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Dan And Nadine

Jul 12th, 2013 by

Dan readied his stick and plunked a ball in a side pocket. Relishing his fleeting achievement, he raised his eyes to check if Nadine had bore witness to his excellence. She hadn’t. Gruff, caustic Robert, his misshapen nose and squirrel’s nest hair coaxing annoyed leers, was directing to a general audience of three girls a crack about drunkenly seeing twelve holes and the improvement to his game that was sure to bring. Nadine was one of those girls, and Dan squelched a perturbation of despondency when he saw Nadine’s eyes shine for Robert’s boisterous wit.

Nadine was Dan’s project. He met her, he welcomed her friends, he introduced them all to his friends, he slept luxuriously fitful nights imagining Nadine warming to him and reciprocating his feelings. Kind, pretty and, lately, eager to hang out with him and his buddies, Nadine was unassailable. Dan allowed renewed confidence in the value he offered her. Soon, he would ask her out. He just needed a private moment. They’d been out together as a group enough that Dan believed Nadine was hoping he would lurch at a pretext to corner her alone and deliver the magical words she’d been secretly anticipating. Dan occasionally wondered if the moment, when it came, would be so flush with spent resolve that they would seal the agreement with a passionate (but endearingly tentative) kiss.

Dan: “D’ja see that bank shot?”

Robert: “That bank shot wasn’t good…”

PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT

Robert: “…that bank shot was GREAT.”

Nadine: *laughs*

Dan: *smiles weakly*

Robert: *touches Nadine’s chunky girl friend with chalky side of stick*

PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC REACTION

Chunks: “Hey! Not nice!”

Robert: “Blame Dan. He bet me I wouldn’t do it.”

Dan: “No I didn’t.”

Robert: “Come on, Dan, you’re always causing trouble. Don’t try to hide it.”

Nadine: “He doesn’t look like the one causing trouble here.”

Dan: “Thanks, Nadine.”

Robert: “I knew there was something between you two!”

Dan had always taken to understand that he was a handsome, if aesthetically understated, man. He certainly saw nothing in Nadine’s limpid gaze to suggest extended exposure to his countenance irritated her. If Dan were to count up the hours spent in Nadine’s company, (an exercise which, in point of fact, he did one evening while nervously fiddling with the bracing decision to text her one mere day after they had spoken by phone, the nerve!), the sum of their unspoken love would add to a considerable investment of life energy.

And so it was with naive expectation that Dan foresaw no interference, nor any of the usual social rifts that erupt when the sexes mix, issuing from Nadine & company’s enfolding. He was therefore emotionally denuded when Nadine’s redirected attention usurped his blueprint of steady bonding. A sickening awareness jammed his guts as he recorded the mounting toll of Robert & Nadine’s wet glances, slithery torso feints, forearm grazing entreaties, and joyously faux indignations, each a sharper dagger than the last. He sunk his last shot, and excused himself to “make a call”, which no one heard, nor needed to hear.

Seven years later, Robert would be married to a svelte, head-turner blonde, and they would reside in a charming suburb. Dan would have moved to another corner of the country, met an uninspiring but trustworthy woman, and married as well, settling in a jurisdiction not known for its disruptive temptations, but not mattering anyway. Government statistics would show that Robert worked in a high-stress field and had one child with his comely wife, and that Dan was a productive contributor to state coffers and had two children by his wife.

Acquaintances who knew Dan would say if asked that he was a happy, well-adjusted man. A real stand-up guy, a normal guy. The sort of guy who had everything going for him.

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