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The Bitch Of Blagojevich

Dec 11th, 2008 by

Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness.
– Lady Macbeth

Hold up that fucking Cubs shit. Fuck them!
– Lady Blagojevich

There is a plague sweeping America. It is the plague of bitchy unfeminine women. And it is getting worse.

The latest exemplar of this cultural and gender defilement is the wife of Democrat governor Rod Blagojevich, Patti. She can be heard in the background of wiretapped conversations encouraging, in the most high-minded poetic blandishments, her husband’s dirty payola schemes. Here is a picture of the dear sweet thing:

whatchoo looking at willis?

Sexxxy!

I wonder, when contemplating the deviousness of corrupt alpha males, how much of their treachery would have gone unrealized were it not for their harridan wives or mistresses beguiling them behind closed doors with their twisted siren songs. Weak traditional leader-of-men alpha males, like Blagojevich, who manage a broad power base in the crudest fashion but exercise minimal self-control when confronted with the machinations of those who feed their bloated yet shallow egos, are often the most effortlessly manipulated by the entreaties of scheming status-obsessed women, even ones as snarly-looking as Patti the Putrifier.

As men are more romantic than women, we occasionally need to remind ourselves of their bestial nature underneath the veneer of blush and bosom. Women as a whole are more coldly calculating than men, and the worst of them can challenge the top 1% of sociopathic alpha males for deceitfulness and cavalier betrayal. It is the prerogative of women that practical concerns, and how to achieve them, dominate their thinking and catalyze their emotions. They are the ones stuck with nine month pregnancies. Morality was codified by men; amorality perfected by women. And no one is more versed in justifying and rationalizing their own shitty behavior than a woman.

Beware the woman who tirelessly and single-mindedly works behind the scenes to further your ambitions. Keep a wary eye on her, for her love is tainted with the promised spoils of something larger than your heart. You will never shake the feeling with such a conniving bitch that you are a useful vessel delivering her the status and power she craves, and which is all that is left capable of shooting a tingle into her mangled icy pussy. Because once your status is gone, so is she. Only one thing will work to tame a bitch like this: Game. Otherwise, you are stuck spinning like a hamster on the wheel of her choosing.

Rod Blagojevich’s worst crime? That he was in thrall to a dried up middle-aged desiccated cunt like Patti.

Come on, conventional alpha male. You can do better. You’re an embarrassment.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Current Events, Self-aggrandizement, Status Is King | Comments Off

Hints Your Relationship Is Doomed

Dec 10th, 2008 by

If you observe your girlfriend doing any of these things you had better be formulating contingency plans.

  • She compares you to her girlfriends’ boyfriends.

If you start hearing things from her like “Oh, Sara told me Heath — btw, don’t you think Heath is such a dreamy name for a man? — recently got back from an overseas trip where he played golf with the Dalai Lama. Isn’t that amazing?!” you are in trouble. A woman in love hardly notices your flaws, let alone the exploits or accomplishments of her girlfriends’ men. When a woman is stacking you up, you’ve already come up short.

Solution: Make fun of her. (Really, making fun of a girl is a great solution for just about any occasion). “The Dalai Lama? Wow, Sara must be horrible in bed if she pushed him to become a monk.” Or: “Hey, for our next vacation, I think I’m just gonna lay on the couch all week eating Cheetos. You in?” Whatever you say, don’t make fun of the other man. This is always, however unjustifiably, interpreted by the woman as jealousy.

  • She got a boob job.

Sure, those new melons under a sweater turn you on, but you’ve gotta be aware of the subtext (subbreast?). A girlfriend or wife who randomly decides to take the extreme measure of altering her body parts ostensibly to appeal to you is actually trying to appeal to every man BUT you. The boob job girl is at heart a coldly rational chick who understands well the workings of the sexual market, even if she can’t or won’t articulate the instincts that drive her. She is a visceral status whore who trades in the currency of boobs for bruisers. Caveat: If she gets her synthetic boobs early in the relationship but after she’s fallen in love with you, you may be home free. She’s afraid of losing you to the competition. Worst case scenario: Her boobs were bought by her previous boyfriend. Think about what kind of girl dates guys who would pay to have their girlfriends augmented. I’ll tell you what kind — a girl who views relationships mechanistically, a simple tit for tat. She is a low self-esteem victimologist who doesn’t trust her inner beauty has the power to enthrall a man, and will stop at nothing, including invasive surgery, to maximize her chances of landing and keeping the highest status man possible.

Solution: Don’t be a supportive quisling beta. If her boob job was out of the blue and not at your request, tell her they look nice, but maybe they’re too big for her upper body. Call her “weeble wobble, but they don’t fall down”.

  • She undertakes beautification projects.

Similar to the above, but less the province of the blatantly rational status whore, and harder to recognize the warning signs, a girl who suddenly begins an exercise program or wearing carefully applied makeup or buying new sexy cocktail dresses is prepping herself for a return to the market. You may think she found it in her heart to please you, but you would be deluding yourself. Her biological imperative is manipulating her at the reptilian level to do these things because her womb pulses anew with the desire to be filled by another man’s seed. If she starts saying stuff like “Ugh, don’t kiss me, I just put on lipstick” you’re about to be downsized. A girl who loves you will be happy to receive your kisses whenever you want to give them, and happy to reapply her lipstick without complaint. Caveat: If she begins her beautification project at your insistence, or in reaction to your subtle criticisms or your overt flirtations with better looking women, and you have no doubt she loves you, then encourage her. She will feel desired — she will in fact feel more womanly — that you demand excellence from her.

Solution: This is dangerous territory. The enemy has already breached your frontline defense. You’ll need a two-pronged counteroffensive. One, launch a campaign of subtle, but constant negging. You’ve gotta keep her knocked off balance. Two, commence flirting egregiously with other women. A woman’s battle plan for fresh cock, once  initiated, can only be thwarted by disrupting troop morale. Your job is to remind her, through the actions above, that there is no glory to be found except under rule of your kingship. Take her to your castle balcony and show her the hordes of women streaming from the hinterlands to get through your fortress gate.

  • She bitches at you for minor offenses.

Anytime you notice her aggravation threshold for your antics getting lower, you can bet your bronzed boner that your antics are not the problem — she is annoyed that she no longer feels turned on by you. Women resent men who stop making them horny, in much the same way men resent their wives for getting fat and ruining their sexual experience. Of coures, women are constitutionally incapable of expressing the real reasons for their shriveling libido in your company, so it manifests as a vague annoyance with your tics and quirks that once charmed her pants off.

Solution: Think of everything negative coming out of her mouth as a shit test, and respond as the trained master of muff you are. She’s that little brat you don’t take seriously. Under no circumstance should you attempt to change your quirky habits to placate her; this will only result in more annoyance and more demands for compliance with her ever-growing list of complaints.

  • You’ve caught her in flagrante delicto

Major red flag.

Solution: Laugh at them. It works!

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, Relationships | Comments Off

Less Is Less

Dec 10th, 2008 by

Christmas decorations (notice I didn’t use the word holiday. that would be beta) are going up around the office. Taped to one wall is a printout with candy canes and snowmen and the words “Less is more”.

It’s funny the things people tell themselves to perk up their banal existences.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Pretty Lies | Comments Off

My Craigslist Pickup Ad

Dec 9th, 2008 by

It’s time to reveal the Craigslist ad I use to successfully pick up chicks online. This isn’t a template; it’s pretty much word for word what I post in the M4W section to entice women into my lair. I’m giving it away freely for you to learn from as I have moved on to more direct game.

******

Want it from behind while you play Super Mario Brothers ? – m4w

Date: 2008-07-02, 2:35PM EDT Do you love to play Super Mario Brothers on the Classic Nintendo System? Do you like to get tagged from behind while you do it? This is the post for you then.

You must know your way around the game before we meet, must be open to anal sex, also able to fake an orgasm is a plus.

I will send you the address to a hotel and a room number. When you arrive the door will be open. Please come in close and lock the door and close the shades if they are still open. I will be in the bathroom and the door will be closed. Turn on the TV and the Nintendo. Remove all of your clothing. Turn off all lights in the room and kneel down on the bed so you are directly in the light of the TV. You need to be facing the TV with your butt in the air pointed toward the pillows on the bed.

Press the start button on the controller when you are ready. I will hear the sound and turn the light off in the bathroom and come out. You will not look directly at me, only look at the TV. When the first level starts I will begin to finger you and lick you. I will be using lots of lube as well.

When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, “MORE”, “HARDER”, “YES”, “FUCK ME”, but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts.

When you reach the flag you must again trigger the fireworks, and also orgasm. I will pull out. When the 1-3 starts I will penetrate your ass. You are allowed to say something like “OH GOD”, “YES”, OR “IT HURTS” no other conversation is allowed.

When level 1-4 starts I will alternate between holes as I see fit. You may beg me to cum inside or outside of you, depending on what you want. When boss falls and you reach the princess I will pull out and blow my load where you have convinced me I want too. You may then say something like “Thanks”, “It was great”, “I loved it”, “Don’t stop”

If I am impressed you may continue playing and I will continue to pleasure you. If I am not, I will turn the Nintendo Off and return to the bathroom. At this time you may clean your self with the towel that is beside the bed. Turn the lights on, redress yourself and leave.

I may come back out and talk to you as you dress but the conversation will most likely be short and revolve around scheduling another time to get together.

******

Note how I leave nothing to chance. Girls love men who are decisive and LEAD. They don’t want to have to ask you what they should do when they get to level 2. Here, I have demonstrated my alpha cred with step-by-step instructions she must follow, and I back it up with the threat of punishment if she deviates — for instance, if she lets her character die. Notice also how I am in complete control in the bedroom. Women happily submit to a man who choreographs the sex like a maestro.

While you may wonder if this ad is a little too forward, you’d be surprised at the success rate I’ve had with it. Cute nerd girls who play video games cannot resist a man who knows what he wants and takes it. They also love an element of mystery. What I did not mention in the ad is the Strong Bad Mexican wrestling mask I wear to accentuate the ambience.

Cost of this bang: $30 for the Motel 6 room.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs | Comments Off

Dating In The City: A Series

Dec 8th, 2008 by

More wisdom from the dating trenches of this city full of glorious yuppie headcases.

Damian: So we’re talking on the phone a bit, things are going well, and I ask if she’s free. She says “I’m busy every day this week, but next week works.” Immediately, I lose all interest in her. I tell her “Yeah, sure, maybe. Hey, nice talking to you, take care.”

Me: “I’m busy every day this week”?!? What a turnoff.

Damian: Exactly. It’s not bad enough that she’s BUSY; she has to be BUSY EVERY DAY of the week. How many froo froo dog grooming classes can one girl attend? [Damian imitating nasally stuck-up bitch voice]: “I have a Pilates class Monday, a Zen meditation class Tuesday, a Blackberry addict anonymous class Wednesday, a Yoga class to firm up my buttocks on Thursday, a Professionals in the City $500 happy hour on Friday where I practice shooting down Herbs all night, volunteer missions at the local animal shelter on the weekend, and run run runs all week long to get my chubby ass shape for the marathons that ALL the girls are doing these days! It’s just perfect! My life is SO fulfilled! I love love LOVE being a woman on the go. So many fun distractions from my childlessness. Ooo, where did I leave my pink IPod?”

***

Here’s some advice, ladies. If a guy asks you out and you’re interested, don’t tell him you’re busy. That shit doesn’t work on us like it works on you. As you are women, I understand it’s hard to refrain from projecting your female desires onto men, but step outside of your solipsistic universes for one second and try to see it from a man’s point of view. We do not get aroused by “mystery”, or “playing hard to get”, or “scarcity”. We don’t want you more because you’re unavailable. We don’t fantasize about you constantly running away to do something secretive in the woods like that dork from Twilight, and then get all excited when you show up out of the blue with a sly grin on your face, leaning against our locker.

What does encourage our ardor for you is quite simple: You, available and naked (assuming you meet our minimum beauty threshold).

If you really are “busy” every day of the week, be extremely apologetic about it. Explain that you would love to see us right now, but you can’t because you’re already committed to a bunch of crap you really don’t want to do. Make us feel like your cooking classes and seminars and book club meetings are an annoying hindrance to seeing us (which they really should be). Acquiring the proper perspective in this way will not only keep us interested in seeing you, it will help screw your heads on right and remind yourselves what is most important in life — finding a man and falling in love.

Most likely, though, you are NOT that “busy”, and instead your week is burdened with a lot of make-work pointless female timesucks to fill the dull aching void of your lives. You would set yourself apart from so many women if you said “Sure, I can see you this evening if you’d like.”

At this nadir of modern American society, knowing what we know about how cosmopolitan women spend their prime years, when men hear “I’m busy every day this week”, we quickly and justifiably assume this means she does not value a chance to be rewarded with the pleasure of our company more than she values an amateur bartending seminar sponsored by a matchmaking company in the business of bringing single SWPL men and women together. If you cannot see the irony in that, you will be alone with your ludicrous standards at the age of 35.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Dating, The Big City Life | Comments Off

Dirty Photo Album

Dec 5th, 2008 by

If I could give just one piece of advice to my hypothetical son, it would be this:

Never take women seriously.

If I could give him a second piece of advice, it would be this:

Make an indecent photo album of every girl you’ve ever banged.

“Trust me, son,” I will say, “when you’re in your dotage, and all you’ve got is your loving but completely asexual old wife, and the young women walking down the street have stopped returning your flirtations, you’ll thank me when you crack open your dusty dirty digital pics and videos to marvel at… and masturbate to… the fine ass you once tapped.”

“But dad,” he’ll argue, “I want to cherish their memories, not splooge on them. Anyhow, I can always turn to internet porn if I want to get off. In 50 years, it’ll probably be holographic.”

That’s when I’ll explain to him that the best way to cherish past loves is to keep their memories alive and fully expressed through the indomitable tumescence of his stiff cock. What an honor to bestow on a woman! Of all the women in the world… of all the readily available porn… it’s *your* naked pic from 30 years ago, dear love, I choose to stroke off to. And then I’ll remind him how much more satisfying porn is when the featured stars are you and one of your exes in the bloom of youth. Nothing brings back the flood of happy memories like a photo of an ex spread-eagled on the bed, her youthful meatflaps illuminated by the nightvision on your camera.

Given that everyone’s sexual future, once over a certain age, likely will be worse than their past, a dirty photo album of conquests from better days will help ease the pain of encroaching obsolescence. It will remind one of the prowess one once possessed, boosting the ego as well as stirring the loins. In my coffin, I would want my dirty photo album placed tenderly upon my chest, to accompany me to hell.

The dirty photo album also serves a purpose in the present. When you are in a rut, and your game has gone soft, a quick glance at the hotties you scored over the years will fortify your resolve, and invigorate you with the renewed confidence that what you once bedded, you could bed again.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Self-aggrandizement, The Pleasure Principle, Vanity | Comments Off

My Life Philosophy

Dec 4th, 2008 by

Thought experiment: Imagine you had incontrovertible proof that there was no afterlife. No supernatural entities. No heaven or hell. No otherworld. No reincarnation. No forevermore.

No second chances.

Imagine there was no moral accounting after death of your actions on earth. No supreme being to judge your soul’s worth on the scale of divine justice. No reward or punishment. No appeal to omniscient authority in matters of good and evil.

There was only the endless black void at the moment death. The infinite silence. A complete surrender of your consciousness as the last pinprick of light extinguishes. All your thoughts, your feelings, your sensation, your memories… you… wiped away clean to merge with the great nothing.

How would you live? Given this proof of the finality of death, and of the expectation of nothing once dead, what is your personal philosophy?

At a family gathering, I played with my little niece and nephew, 4 and 3 years old respectively. They tumbled all over me, giggling and shrieking. I held them above the ground and pretended they were airplanes in heated battle with Russian MiGs or, in a nod to my niece’s female sensibilities, a pink passenger jet flying vacationers to a distant, undiscovered tropical island. They did handstands and somersaults and rammed things with their heads. I made animal noises (my monkey impression is quite good) and they would run away in mock terror, then run back to me anticipating more assaults by zoo animals. They fought over toys, yet never held grudges, at least not for long. I mentally noted that they played status games, but were completely ignorant of it. Innocent of their amoral natures.

Afterward, I drove my elderly grandmother back to her assisted living home. That’s a nice euphemism for death’s waiting room. In the community meeting area there were Scrabble boards and an organ. As if impending death wasn’t depressing enough, we bide our waning moments in pursuit of a triple word score. Old people jockey for status, too, but they make no pretense to hide it. They are artlessly cantankerous. After a certain age, when you don’t matter anymore to most people, even your own family, you stop caring what anyone thinks of you. Tit for tat.

Spend time with little children and old people. One is innocent, the other is reacquainted with innocence. Their company is a world away from the drone and ruckus of all the furious humanity in between. At the extremes you will find perspective.

My answer to the philosophical question I posed above is hedonism. It is the only rational conclusion one can draw faced with the premises I presented. When there is no second life or higher power to appease; when our lives are machines — complex misunderstood machines cunningly designed to conceal the gears and pulleys behind a facade of self-delusional sublimation, but machines nonetheless — grinding and belching the choking gritty smoke of status-whoring displays in service to our microscopic puppetmasters… well, there can be only one reasonable response to it all. It makes no sense to behave any other way unless you never questioned the lies.

Are you prepared to embrace the meaning of your ultimately inconsequential existence? If it feels good…

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Pleasure Principle, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

November 2008 Comment Winner

Dec 3rd, 2008 by

November was chock full of terrific comments (and chock full of shit from the usual suspects), so picking a winner wasn’t easy. At least here at the Chateau you will never hear the tepid Oscar-uninspired words “And the Comment award goes to…”. Nope, as nature intended, it’s all about winners and losers under the harsh klieg lights of reality I daily shine in your faces.

Commenter Thursday wins the November 2008 Comment Winner award with his pithy aphorism in the comments section of the post about Obama’s women:

Success with women is more disillusioning than failure.

The truest observations often require the least explication.

Comment Winner Runner-up is Dave from Hawaii who aptly illustrates with an example from his own life the importance of game to healthy, loving long term relationships, including marriage. Even though the original post was about former fatties resenting men’s desire, this unfounded belief that game is an impediment to loving relationships seems to crop up in almost every thread.

The married or long term relationship man that [runs game] is least likely to suffer her “getting bored” or “falling out of love” with him, ending in divorce because she began cheating on him and deciding to cash out and chain him into servitude via the alimony/child-support enslavement institution that is U.S. family law — while she jumps into bed with the next bad-boy thug that gets her hot and bothered like he used to when they first began dating.

I got married young, and simply did not understand anything about game, or the benefits of assertive masculinity. I put my wife on a pedestal and spent 7 years or so of a very contentious, walking on egg-shell type of relationship that teetered towards divorce more than a few times.

I discovered PUA/Game sites like this one a few years ago, and after a bit of reading on shit tests, and the subconscious mating desires of females, I began to “run game” on my wife.

The transformation of our relationship is astounding.

Yes, she put on a good 40 lbs. a couple of years after we got married.

Once I learned to game her subconscious, competitive instincts and began to plant suggestions in her mind that I was desirable to other women…she’s gotten motivated and lost the weight, and her affection towards me reverted back to the way she was before got married.

Once I started recognizing her shit tests and began to not just “pass them” but literally blow them up, the passive-aggressive emotionally driven conflict that had been the hallmark of our relationship has all but disappeared.

We don’t fight anymore.

My wife, who used to grumble and complain and tell all her closest friends and family that we had a “difficult relationship with lots of problems that needs working on” now tells everyone she’s happily married without blinking an eye.

And she has no idea that the real reason why…that I basically educated myself on the realities of the male-female relational dynamic in terms of mating strategies as broken down by Pick-Up Artists et al, and realized that my previous actions and behavior were based on the feminist zeitgeist that programs most of us who are raised in Western culture to put Women on pedestals and try and be the “nice guy” beta as the key to a happy and fulfilling relationship.

Many pickup artists will often say that their advice is simply for men wanting to have the alpha  “sex-with-as-many-hot-women-as-possible-without-getting-trapped-into-commitment” lifestyle.

However, the insight you can glean from the PUA on the principles dealing with females biological imperatives and their base motivations is quite instructive on learning to maintain a steady, monogamous relationship as well.

Game: It does a marriage good.

Following are the commenters who received Honorable Mentions for the month of November.

Tupac Chopra wins the zinger award responding to another incredulous commenter in the previous Comment Winner post.

*picking jaw up off of floor*

You’re going to have to leave it there if you wanna fit that bad boy in.

The award for most self-delusional comment goes to Keith, AKA bottom who poses as a top.

I slapped you around the room like a sorry little bitch,  leaving you crying and shitting yourself in the corner like the syphilitic little cunt you are.

The TMI award and the “Thanks for the visual” award go to supertroll David Alexander in my post about using wedding rings to game girls.

I shave down there for the girls who will never use it.

Joe T. earns the award for best intuitive grasp of the mechanics of the sexual market.

If a DC area girl is “plump” and decent looking, not ugly, she will typically inflate her own value in the dating narket. If she’s a 5-6, she’ll act like an 8.

American men are so inured to dealing with overweight females that “plump” now equals “svelte”.

In order for weight to have *any* negative impact on an American woman’s dating value these days, she has to be downright morbidly obese.

Anything less, along with a marginally cute face, and she’ll be prancing around like she’s Reese Witherspoon.

I would like to add that the monstrous obesity epidemic in America and its effects on mating dynamics has not gotten the attention in the culture media that it should get outside of this blog. While I agree with Joe T. that the lowering of men’s standards in response to the reality of a skewed dating pool where half the female prospects are overweight results in the “Reese Witherspoon” prancing effect among chubby single women, I don’t see that meaning men have become “inured” to fat chicks and hit on them regardless. The desire for slender babes is hardwired in men; it’s not a malleable lust that changes in relation to the number of fatties in society. There is no fat “tipping point”. What it means instead is 1. more fat chicks getting pumped and dumped, and 2. more ego inflation among the thin girls. Much balance will be restored to the force if women would just push away from the table.

El Guapo explains why sluttiness can make girls bad relationship prospects.

There are two factors at work in promiscuity and must be properly evaluated before getting into relationship territory.

One factor is the economic commodity factor.  A girl that has many more partners than average has diluted her sexual value and many men see it that way.

The other factor is whether or not the bonding mechanism has been damaged.  Sex is the bonding force behind romantic relationships.  If the promiscuity has made the male “just another man”, the relationship will self-destruct.  If on the other hand, the woman still sees the man and his individual value, and helps create and maintain that electric spark, the magic of passion, sweetness, innocent spirit as you say, then the relationship will prosper.

I once dated a former high-end fitness model escort.  In this market she commanded $4000/hr.  She was and is spectacular.  Only she can’t bond.  And is a serial relationship girl.  She goes from broken heart to broken heart because she can’t bond and repeats, like a broken record to her sister, “he’s not the one.  I don’t feel it.”.

Kick a Bitch gets all philosophical on my post about the omega dude marrying the wildebeest.

damn that bitch fell out of the ugly tree and smacked EVERY branch on her way down.

you couldn’t crack that head with a sledge-hammer.

Cannon’s Canon highlights the versatility of the neg.

Personally, I like to neg Mother Earth by using the air conditioning WITH the windows down in my car.  Now that’s a DHV!

…and scores a two-fer with his comment confirming my observation that Asian women are fixated with the anus.

haha, gotta tell ya… went to west garden last year with some coworkers, a rub-n-tug around midtown manhattan… not usually my scene, but anyway… the massage was legit, but the asian chick starting using all her techniques as soon as she rolled me over for the finale: tight grip, high speed, etc.  i figured i’d be playing it cool to tough it out a few minutes mentally and enjoy my wank, little did i know!  there was a whole lot of lube going on down there and the lights were so low i couldn’t make out what was happening, not necessarily a visual image i’d savor for later anyway… BUT SUDDENLY!  a cold hard index finger slipped its way beyond the sunshine, and lo and behold, i was on a massage table getting fingerbanged by a “crazy asian handjob masseuse.”  anyway, the sensation was minimal, and the excessive lube was positively numbing.  after about ten+ minutes, she said to me, “yoojah!”  i said, “what?”  she asks, “yoojah?”  i say, “no, i don’t want a drink.”  she counters,
“no, you jahhk now.”  so i started cranking that souljah boy while she two-fingered my asshole (in my defense, her hands were the size of compact discs).  when i got ready to pop, i told her to take over, and i laid back while she one-handed the mic and two-fingered the turntables.  as per usual in the rub-n-tugs, she laughed when i popped and said, “OHHH STWONG BOY!” then literally ran out to wash her hand which i am sure, despite the dim lights, was stained brown with my poo.

and that, my friend, is why asians are obsessed with the anus.

Finally, Shouting Thomas unloads the hate as my words push him to the brink.

After posting, I realized that you fucking morons may not realize the moral problem in this disgusting bit of fun you’re having.

Ridiculing those who are less fortunate than you… well, it’s about as low as another human can go.

You are a contemptible stupid fucking son of a bitch.  A real Alpha would take you out in the back yard and beat the shit out of you.  You’ve got it coming.

One of the most important marks of the true Alpha is a sense of decency and kindness.

There’s something about the internet that encourages worthless assholes to disgrace themselves.

Shut down this site and find a job as a bicycle messenger… if you can.  I doubt that you can do any better than that.

What a little cunt you are.

I was telling one of the other bloggers how envious I was of his haters, that my haters were too timidly cerebral and rational. Thank you, Shouting Thomas, for bringing a level of professionalism back to the dark art of hating. But one word of advice: Don’t come charging out of the hate gate at full steam. You want to lull your target into complacency, subtly building up to a passionate crescendo of hate, and unleashing your righteous vitriol when least expected, after you have ensnared him in reasonable discussion. A powerful dose of hate is most devastating when your foe cannot readily dismiss you as an overwrought raving lunatic.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Comment Winners | Comments Off

Beta Of The Year Award: Husband “Supports” Wife’s Whoring

Dec 1st, 2008 by

Previously, I awarded BOTY to the man who petitioned the state to change his last name so he could take his wife’s maiden name in marriage. It’s difficult to write while choking back vomit, but I managed to tough out my nausea and bring his story to the readers in hopes that I could save the life of even one man from such a horrible self-inflicted castration.

I may have been too hasty bestowing the ignominious BOTY award to “wife’s last name” guy. The year isn’t over and we have recently had a new contender for the crown. He’s the husband of a 38 year old woman who got drunk at a college football game and fucked a random dude in the men’s bathroom as people gawked and cheered them on, while he sat oblivious in his seat watching the game.

Feldman, a married mother of three, has been the target of Internet jokes and prank telephone calls today. She was fired this morning from an assisted living center, where she had been an administrator.

Feldman said her husband, Kelly, has been supportive. She said he faults himself for not going with her when she left her seat to use the restroom before halftime.

There are only two things a man should do if confronted with a humiliating betrayal of this magnitude:

  1. Say nothing to your wife except these two words: “Goodbye, whore.”
  2. As one of my commenters suggested, get retroactive paternity tests done for all “his” children. Odds are high that not all his kids are his.

That’s it. Other than a well-deserved slap across the face before walking out, (something I don’t recommend as American law as currently constituted will not be lenient toward a husband exacting righteous retribution on a whoring wife), this is all he needs to do. Anything more, and he has effectively acceded to his public emasculation. Unfortunately, the “man” in this story has done just the opposite, and so has earned a year-end berth to challenge the reigning champion for Beta Of The Year.

You, the readers, will vote to decide on the winner below.

A couple things jumped out at me when I read this sorry tale of ho. Betas love that word “supportive”. They cling to it like a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea, probably figuring that “being supportive” of their cheating spouses will spark a renewed love they never really shared. Or that this stupidly magnanimous act of phony generosity in the face of such a monumental infidelity will silence the taunting of the alphas that haunt their nightmares. I can’t think of a more counterproductive… or cringlingly pansy-assed response… than to “support” a cheating wife, especially one who cheats so flagrantly. At least avowed masochists derive some pleasure from the whippings.

This is the woman the husband is supporting:

Police ticketed Feldman, 38, and Ross Walsh, 26, of Linden for indecent conduct Saturday night.

A security guard who said he saw the two having sex through a gap in a men’s restroom stall flagged down campus police, according to the police report.

Men’s restroom? Was she really on her way to the ladies’ room and got pulled aside? Or did she have fucking in mind and loitered around the men’s bathroom until an acceptable prospect strolled by?

By the time an officer arrived, about a dozen people were cheering and laughing in the bathroom while Feldman and Walsh were inside the stall, the report said.

The officer pushed his way through the crowd, opened the door and separated Feldman and Walsh, the report said.

Police described both Feldman and Walsh as upset, drunk and uncooperative.

It doesn’t matter that she was drunk. Plenty of married women get drunk and don’t fuck strangers in public bathrooms while hubby dutifully waits for her return. The alcohol was a hindbrain serum, throwing into stark relief her craving to take the cock of an alpha male. Liquor is not a disabler of reason; it is an enabler of desire. Without the alcohol, she might have been a little more circumspect in where and how she cheated.

Then there was this:

She said he faults himself for not going with her when she left her seat to use the restroom before halftime.

Read that line again. Let the sickening gravity of it hit you in the chest with a thud. You are witnessing a peek into the shriveled, neutered, microphallic mini-id of a man who has utterly surrendered his masculinity. A man whose only concept of himself is through others — and specifically through whatever woman will give him the time of day. You want to reach out, grab this schmuck by the shoulders, and open-handedly slap him silly across the face until he comes to his senses. Faults himself?! For her getting drunk and fucking the first guy she deemed an alpha on her walk to the bathroom while onlookers cheered? This is the inwardly twisted thinking of a soulkilled wastrel. This is how a man reacts when he has no confidence in himself to stand up and stare down a woman who has wronged him.

If we were discussing politics, the analogue to this guy is the man who reflexively blames his countrymen for the evil committed by foreign enemies.

What kind of man would willingly accommodate his own dishonor? I’ll tell you what kind of man — a man who lives in fear. A man afraid to lose a woman because he believes he cannot get another. A man who is scared shitless to WALK.

In other words, a beta.

Why do women love cads? The answer is above. Women love men who live without fear.

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Posted in Beta, Marriage Is For Chumps, Sluts | Comments Off

Obama Wants A Manly Dog

Nov 28th, 2008 by

Reading this interview snippet between Obama and Barbara Walters gives me hope that he will have the sack to face down the Russians, who are at the moment giddily trying to reconstitute Cold War II:

Obma: “What is a Havanese?”

Barbara Walters: “It’s like a little terrier and they’re non-allergenic and they’re the sweetest dogs..”

O: [Face suddenly changes.] “It’s like a little yappy dog?”

Michelle: “Don’t criticize.”

O: “It, like, sits in your lap and things?”

M: “It’s a cute dog.”

O: “It sounds kinda like a girly dog.”

M: “We’re girls. We have a houseful of girls.”

O [with hand gestures]: “We’re going to have a big rambunctious dog, of some sort.”

If Obama were to choose a dog like this… or this… America would be the laughingstock of the world (except in Sweden, where men sit to pee). The Russians would be parking nukes on barges within spitting distance of Myrtle Beach. Blessedly, Obama shows sparks of alphatude completely at odds with his citizen of the world cosmopolitan leftism.

I bet if George W. Bush had said he doesn’t want a “girly dog”, the liberal media would have gone apeshit chastising him for his Neanderthal sexist and species-ist views. The feminists would have ripped off their breasts shrieking a battle cry to the heavens. But Obama gets a pass. The commenters at Huffington Post are sharing in his big dog love. More proof that lefties should never be taken seriously.

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