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Days of Broken Arrows provides a short history of Charles Manson, convicted murderer, cult leader, psychopath, and alpha male with a knack for harem building and marrying much younger women while in prison for life.

Manson:

Son of a prostitute.
No father.
Awful childhood.
Barely literate.
5’2″ tall.
Spent most of his youth in detention centers.
When he was finally released as an adult, he begged to stay inside, worrying he could not handle life on the outside.
With a few years he had harems of women.
Held orgies.
Orgies were so great that Beach Boy Dennis Wilson invited them to move in.
Dennis Wilson was a major Alpha Male rock star of the ’60s.
Manson then order his women to kill.
They were so devoted that they did.
His women were not ugly losers — some were former cheerleaders.

Say what you will about the guy, but he had an innate Alpha quality. Shame it was put to such bad use. Guys who whine they can’t get women should think about his life and how he managed to not only get women to sleep with him but basically make them servants to his will. He had some serious charisma.

I’m not surprised at the wife who is a fraction of his age. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have groupies.

He was even a talented songwriter. He placed a song on a Beach Boys album and penned this, which was later covered by Guns N’ Roses.

True love.

<dr seuss>

Yes, chicks dig jerks.
Some dig them a little
some dig them a lot.
Some chicks dig them
in the parking lot.
Some dig them white
some dig them black.
And some chicks even dig them
when they go on the attack.
Yes, chicks dig jerks
this much is true.
They dig jerks more
when they’re black and blue.
Chicks dig jerks
of all sizes and hues.
They dig charmers and badboys
and prisoners too!
Some chicks dig jerks
of the jerkiest sort.
They marry crazy killers
60 years older, and short.
Nice men and kind men
need not apply.
It’s dangerous folk
who catch a chick’s eye.
So when you see a puddle
and lay down your coat
just remember the chicks
backstage at death row.
Ol’ Charlie Manson
got himself married.
While you sit at home
and whack your tally.

</dr seuss>

On a related topic, F. Roger Devlin pondered the reason for the observable preference of women for jerks, in an article titled “The Question of Female Masochism“. A CH read of the week. The take-home punch:

I would suggest that female sadism might be expected to emerge in a society where men refuse to or are prevented from displaying dominance. A society-wide failure of men to take charge of women is likely to produce a great deal of conscious or unconscious sexual frustration in women which may express itself as sadism. [...]

I do not know if frustrated masochistic instincts cause sadism in women—it is just my hunch. What I do feel confident in stating is that female masochism is a critically important subject which neither feminist denial nor the sanctimonious gallantry of Christian traditionalists should dissuade us from investigating.

You only had to listen… to yer loveable Heartiste.

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“joe” writes,

Shoshana used to live in my current city, and was actively involved in my blues dance group. I don’t remember meeting her, but after my local dance lady friends started posting this video, some bragging about knowing her, a quick Facebook search showed that we have over 20 mutual friends. With that said, two of my male dance friends are “red pillers”, and both contacted me to via private message to share their thoughts. For starters, both were quick to mention her tits, each saying how unabashedly proud of their being real that she is. One said that it’s entirely common for her to regularly wear revealing tops (no surprise there), and the other said that she danced with him in his living room, topless (“I assure you that they are real”, she apparently told him).

In short, we have a good, ‘ol fashioned attention whore. Now, let it be known that my being lover of women, I am not opposed to women flaunting their feminine figures; though, I do take issue with their both doing that and then crying “street harassment” when men take notice. Correction, they take issue when men whom they don’t deem as being sexually desirous take issue.

As I said, I don’t recall ever meeting Shoshana, though I surmise that our paths will eventually cross, assuming that she’ll find her way at my town’s annual blues dance festival, or that I go blues dancing in Manhattan on my next visit.

The attention whore epidemic continues to rage.

Ideally, what (attractive) women want is a world arranged to their liking, which means a world where lesser men know their place — silent, retiring, respectful, and unassuming — and alpha males — the top 10% of all men — are permitted to admire their beauty in however a manner they see fit.

This world will never happen because convincing 90% of men to essentially neuter themselves is like persuading a fat feminist to slim down and behave sweetly. Men are wired for the hunt, women are wired to be hunted. All the liberty-curtailing laws and thoughtcrime witch hunts in the world won’t change the fact that the prey will never dictate to the predators which of them may participate in the chase, the catch, and the consumption. A hungry man has little incentive to obey rules that perpetuate his hunger.

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Lena Dunham is quite the classy lady.

Dunham writes of casually masturbating while in bed next to her younger sister, of bribing her with “three pieces of candy if I could kiss her on the lips for five seconds . . . anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl I was trying.” At one point, when her sister is a toddler, Lena Dunham pries open her vagina — “my curiosity got the best of me,” she offers, as though that were an explanation. “This was within the spectrum of things I did.” [...]

Lena Dunham never actually writes that she was raped by a mustachioed campus Republican named Barry at Oberlin College. She leads up to it with a long story about her childhood misuse of the word “rape” — she accuses her little sister of raping her and tells people that her father sticks a fork in her vagina when she misbehaves — and dwells on her lifelong fear of being raped. She describes two different versions of the same sexual encounter, in the latter version insisting that she did not consent to what happened. And in a remarkably dishonest turn, she has other people describe the event as “rape,” thereby dodging any intellectual or moral responsibility for making the claim herself. [...]

Dunham’s writing all this is, needless to say, a gutless and passive-aggressive act. Barry is not a character in a book; he is a real person, one whose life is no doubt being turned upside down by a New York Times No. 1 best-seller containing half-articulated accusations that he raped a woman in college, accusations that are easily connected to him. Dunham won’t call him a rapist, but she is happy to use other people as sock puppets to call him a rapist. She doesn’t use his full name, but she surely knows how easily it can be found. She wouldn’t face him in a court of law, but she’ll lynch him in print.

This is the last time I’ll write a post about Lena Dunham until she drowns herself in an extra-wide bathtub *fingers crossed*.

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An Atlantic tweenzine article by Conor Friedersdorf — you may remember tiny prancer Conor from his time in the spotlight as a Chateau Heartiste peeñata — grapples with the blowback from California’s new “affirmative-consent” law, the insane, human nature-denying law favored by ugly feminists who want to make romantic pleasure as difficult as possible for men and pretty women to experience.

Friedersdorf passes along a testimonial from a CA male student who attempted to comply with the law by asking women for explicit verbal consent during each stage of the courtship. You can imagine the thousand points of love that bloomed.

Dear Conor,

I am a recent graduate, and want to share with you a few of my experiences that I think are illustrative of why the new affirmative-consent laws are out of touch with the reality of the human experience. I hope they can be of some value to the debate.

I was raised by a left-leaning, feminist family who (at least I thought at the time) were relatively open about sex.

One thing you have to understand about lefties, particularly the white variety: They are the biggest prudes on the planet. The only difference between them and the evangelicals they love to hate are the target vices of their self-righteousness.

But while I arrived at college with a healthy respect for women, I was totally unprepared for the complex realities of female sexuality.

CH needs to reach more men before the manlet cancer metastasizes.

“Oh,” sighed one platonic female friend after we had just watched Harrison Ford grab Alison Doody and kiss her is Indiana Jones and theLast Crusade, “Why don’t guys do that kind of thing anymore? Now days they are all too scared.”

Threatening to toss men before a tribunal for busting a move might dampen their enthusiasm. I mean, I’m not connecting too many dots here.

On our second night together, one of my first partners threw up her hands in disgust. “How am I supposed to get turned on when you keep asking for permission for everything like a little boy?” She said. “Just take me and fuck me already.”

She didn’t stay with me for long.

Alert the media.

This would be a recurring theme. More than once I saw disappointment in the eyes of women when I didn’t fulfill the leadership role they wanted me to perform in the bedroom. I realized that women don’t just desire men, they desire men’s desire―and often they don’t want to have to ask for it.

A woman who has to ask for a man’s desire can never trust him. Once the seed of distrust is planted, it grows and chokes the life out of every interaction.

I also realized that I was in many ways ashamed of my own sexual desire as a man, and that this was not healthy.

Walk with your cock leading the way. Women love men who are proud of their tumescent entitlement. This is perhaps the hardest lesson for constitutional weaklings to assimilate. It cuts against a lifetime of assuming the rump-up position appeasing their betters.

At this point I was experiencing some cognitive dissonance with my upbringing, but in time learned to take an assertive lead unless I got a “no” or otherwise thought I was about to cross a boundary as indicated by body language.

One night I ended up back in a girl’s room after a first date (those do happen in college). She had invited me in and was clearly attracted to me. We were kissing on her bed, outer layers of clothing removed, but when my hands wandered downward she said, “No, wait.” I waited. She began kissing me again, passionately, so again I moved to remove her underwear. “Stop,” she said, “this is too fast.” I stopped.

“That’s fine,” I said. I kissed her again and left soon after, looking forward to seeing her again.

Interestingly, leaving a woman in the lurch of lust is not a guaranteed clit-killer. Off the tongue of a skilled vagician, a takeaway of this style could incite a girl to a higher plane of ecstasy.

But my text messages received only cold, vaguely angry replies, and then silence.

He still had her at angry (the opposite of indifference), but he lost her by the time silence rolled in to steal the show.

I was rather confused. Only many weeks later did I find out the truth from one of her close friends: “She really wanted you, but you didn’t make it happen. She was pretty upset that you didn’t really want her.”

“Why didn’t she just say so then, why did she say we were moving too fast?”

Much to learn, he has…

“Of course she said that, you dumbass. She didn’t want you to think she was a slut.”

The liberal male rationalization hamster is almost as swole as the generic female hamster.

Talk about confusing. Apparently in this case even no didn’t mean no. It wasn’t the last time I’ve come across “token resistance” that is intended to be overcome either. But that’s a line that I am still uncomfortable with testing, for obvious reasons.

Men are the risk-taking sex. It’s biologically ordained. And so women expect men to push the envelope. When a man fails to do that, she’ll wonder what other chances at greatness he’ll choose to decline.

But I have learned not to ask when it clearly isn’t necessary, or desired.

One of my fondest sexual experiences started with making eye contact across a room, moved to a dance floor, and then to an empty bathroom. Not a single word was ever spoken, because none had to be. We both knew and understood. I was a man and she was a woman, and we found ourselves drawn together in that beautiful way that men and women have been since a time immemorial, a time long before language was ever spoken.

Today in California this would be considered rape. I find that very sad. Women are not infantile. They can make their own decisions about sex, and that includes being able to say no―even if they don’t want to have to say yes.

Regards,

Anonymous

Either women are infantile, or they’re adults with agency. If the former, then they need to be treated like infants across the board. This would include removing their right to vote or divorce without cause. If the latter, then these feminist-inspired policies and laws need to be trashed. That means Title IX, affirmative action, and all the rest of the “level playing field aka anti-white male” nonsense must go.

Affirmative-consent laws are in practice Affirmative Resentment laws, because a woman will resent any man who seriously abides a law that requires him to ask her permission to crave and profane her body. Even feminist slags with a two-ton chip on their shoulders will be unable to control feelings of revulsion toward men who accept their demands for slavish foreplay petitions.

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California has lobbed another salvo in the War On Men: Governor Moonbeam signed into law

a bill that makes California the first in the nation to define when “yes means yes” and adopt requirements for colleges to follow when investigating sexual assault reports.

State lawmakers last month approved SB967 by Sen. Kevin de Leon, D-Los Angeles, as states and universities across the U.S. are under pressure to change how they handle rape allegations. Campus sexual assault victims and women’s advocacy groups delivered petitions to Brown’s office on Sept. 16 urging him to sign the bill.

De Leon has said the legislation will begin a paradigm shift in how college campuses in California prevent and investigate sexual assaults. Rather than using the refrain “no means no,” the definition of consent under the bill requires “an affirmative, conscious and voluntary agreement to engage in sexual activity.”

Romance is dead. Long live romance!

I can’t think of many things that would kill the moment faster than whipping out a consent form and a pen as you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Unfurling a one inch micropeen? Reaching under her dress to grab a handful of frank and beans? Unsnapping her bra to release a bundle of tissue paper and two deflated flapjack tits?

“Every student deserves a learning environment that is safe and healthy,”

Infantilization. Coddling. Child-proofing the cap on women’s brains.

We’ve shifted the conversation regarding sexual assault to one of prevention, justice, and healing.

Poopytalk.

The legislation says silence or lack of resistance does not constitute consent.

Women generally don’t like to verbalize their desire to get banged out. They prefer dropping subtle cues that experienced, confident men will recognize and use to lead the interaction toward the bedroom. They also prefer to put up token resistance before relenting completely. A law that requires women deny these two essential aspects of their nature, or to twist them into something inhuman, is a law doomed to fail… or to “succeed” beyond the wildest dreams of its femcunt sponsors.

Under the bill, someone who is drunk, drugged, unconscious or asleep cannot grant consent.

If a drunk woman can’t grant her consent, then a drunk man can’t comprehend her consent. This legal contortion cuts both ways. But of course only men are responsible for their own actions, so loophole exploited!

Lawmakers say consent can be nonverbal, and universities with similar policies have outlined examples as a nod of the head or moving in closer to the person.

Well, that’s a relief! Put away the consent form, you only need a video camera to provide proof to a jury of your feminist inquisitors that you received the requisite head nod and mutually voluntary personal space encroachment to proceed under legal allowance into a reproductively-thwarted union. Wait, it wasn’t thwarted by condom or Pill? Are you evil?

If it wasn’t a travesty, it would be a farce. Worse, it’s humiliation. The point of these toxic, insane, dehumanizing feminist and equalist laws is humiliation of straight (white, beta) men. That’s it. Never forget it. This is your enemy.

***

Reader 1357 quips,

I see a lot more secret recordings of all sexual encounters “just in case”, happening in california pretty soon.

Oh yeah. Externalities are a bitch. What man worth his seductive prowess will risk bedding a slutty headcase now, without video proof of her writhing arousal and surrender? But it would have to be secretly videotaped; not many women are down with a camera rolling on that first magical night together. Keep the closet door ajar, hide the camera behind cable wool sweaters, and don’t forget to put black tape over the red record light.

How ironic if a perverse law designed to catalogue the organic and nuanced stirrings of mutual consent — aka foreplay — were to have the knock-off effect of flooding the internet with more ill-gotten sex videos of regretful feminist whackjobs!

Reader joe sixpack imagines what convincing a girl to sign a pre-sex consent form would entail:

“OMG, lol, what’s that thing on your head?”

“That’s my new GoPro.

Now just look at me and say the following: “I hereby swear of my free personal will, that I do consent to sexual contact up to and inclusive of sexual intercourse whereby I grant unrestricted consent for your penis to enter my vagina, and I duly swear to hold fully exempt from any future civil and/or criminal litigation resulting from said intercourse.

You may not need the GoPro. There’s now an app for that. Good2Go. Nerds rejoice, they finally have a technical means of determining if and when a girl likes them in “that way”. Naturally, whatever slim chances a nerd gets in his life to have sex will promptly be scuttled the moment he pulls out his Good2Go app for permission to continue fondling the girl’s upper forearm.

On a serious note, this law is unenforceable. Last I checked, judges tend to side with defendants in “he said-she said” situations. (Who knows, though? That could be changing, like everything else in America, for the worse.) A law like this is pure signaling by alpha males and omega females. The former get to flex their power over weaker men and demonstrate through their indifference a prowess with women that will never be threatened by morning-after regret. The latter get to make life harder for better looking women of sound mental health, and much much harder for those creepy beta and omega males who sheepishly and awkwardly hit on them in elevators. The nerve! Then there’s the politics of it all. The War On Women rhetoric has ramped up so loudly (and incongruously) that politicians can score a lot of votes by pandering to the worst elements of womanhood. The rest of the women just step in line with these feminist gorgons, because that’s the direction the herd is heading.

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A balnog belched from the foulest pits of hell was arrested in connection with the disappearance, (and presumed murder), of a cute white college girl this month — and now also with the death of another cute white college girl from 2009.

The feral predator:

The timeline of the crime is chilling, in more than one way.

The man is 32-year old Jesse “LJ” Matthew, who was arrested September 25 in Galveston, Texas on a charge of Abduction With Intent to Defile in the case involving the still-unexplained disappearance of second-year University of Virginia student Hannah Graham.

Hannah was last seen by an eye witness walking with LJ Matthew in the early morning hours of Saturday, September 13. She appeared heavily intoxicated, the witness told me, slouched against him, not quite able to walk on her own. They were seen together outside Tempo, the same restaurant where just about an hour before, another woman had told him to get his hands off of her. I ask that young woman what one thing she remembered most about that night. She thinks for a moment and says with a steady stare, “That he creeped me the fuck out.”

I believe we will discover in the coming decades that some races are, on average, less disposed to empathic feelings for fellow humans. At the extreme left tail of this population-varying average moral sense you will find the demonic dumb beasts like the specimen above, who are “less human than human”. But despite the garish horrors of their crimes, their minds are uninteresting, bleak, dull, like the flat tundra under a starless night. They move on instinct; reason and thoughtfulness are as foreign to them as algebra. Like with any rabid animal lunging for your throat, the only life-affirming answer is a bullet to its head. Histrionic postmortems about the meaning of the animal’s life are as repugnant as they are ponderous and futile.

One individual told me LJ [Matthew] always seemed like “a gentle giant.” [ed: he was 270 pounds]

Meme-ification Protocol initiated. Activate “gentle giant” ridicule sequence.

More interesting than the mind of the gentle giant is the mind of the all-too-human victim, and the minds of those around her who swaddle her memory in a rootless victimology that excuses reality from any role in the drama. Hannah Graham was walking alone, late at night, drunk, when a large black man approached her. At the time she met the gentle grotesque, alcohol may have blurred her awareness of her surroundings, or she may have been lucid enough to agree to accompany him to a bar, out of appeasing fear or, more darkly, curiosity.

What Camille Paglia calls naivete, I call delusion. What was this white woman thinking? What were her immediate family, her friends, her larger family, and the culture that ensconced her thinking? That it was perfectly safe to stumble around at 1AM alone, in a drunken haze and a short skirt while the nighttime streets filled with remorseless, hungry prowlers? That “don’t blame the victim” means “don’t take any responsibility for your own well-being”? That adult women are to be handled like crying, soiling infants, coddled and pampered and indulged… and sacrificed by the dorm-load to demon butchers who didn’t get the Take Back the Night memo? That the “real danger” is the happy-go-lucky white frat bro who likes to make crude jokes? That accountability, reason, and personal responsibility are outdated virtues of a backward patriarchal past?

This is what following the Lords of Lies gets you… Death. What she needed to hear was “don’t drink until you can’t see straight”, “don’t go out alone”, “don’t pretend like the world can’t be dangerous to you”, “if you don’t want to be taken advantage of, don’t make yourself an easy target”, “don’t dress like a slut or men will treat you like a slut”, and most importantly, “if a large black man walks toward you in the middle of the night and puts his arm around you in fake friendliness, run and scream for help”.

This goes for the white college men who must have been in the area to see this American Horror Story unfold. Are you so brainwashed by equalist cant that the sight of a huge black guy confronting a drunk white girl in the dead of night doesn’t twitch your risk-assessment reflexes? I’m not saying you had to go mano-a-mandingo with the beast, but you could’ve gathered compatriots and moved in threateningly, which likely would’ve spooked the predator.

Yet even this target group’s great shame is tinged with tragicomedy. Decades of feminist filth poisons the mind, but decades of unleashed female sexual behavior, all traditional constraints on it vilified and tossed aside, hardens the heart. When generations of men witness their women degrade themselves and hook up, with cavalier disregard for any self-debasing consequences, with degenerates and monsters, the instinct to protectiveness grows numbly useless.

Feminists, equalists, and anti-reality delusionists, you have killed Hannah Graham as assuredly as LT “gentle giant” Matthew did. Your lies were his choking grip. Her blood is on your cowardly hands.

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If you want to know what a culture steeped in the toxic feminist stew of kneejerk anti-male hatred looks like, this news clipping will help focus the picture.

A man suspected of raping a woman at knife point after hours on the El Molino High School campus was to be released from jail Thursday after prosecutors said they found evidence that may clear him of the assault.

Sheriff’s officials initially said a masked David J. Kocalis, 24, of Guerneville sneaked up behind the woman Aug. 30, held a knife to her and raped her near the Forestville school’s tennis courts.

He was arrested the next day on charges carrying a possible life sentence after the woman identified a prominent tattoo, and the car he was driving was captured on videotape.

But prosecutor Brian Staebell said Thursday investigators have since uncovered evidence that may point to his innocence. A judge allowed Kocalis, who had been held on $1.2 million bail, to be released on his own recognizance.

His lawyer, Evan Zelig, said a review of cellphone records showed Kocalis and the 18-year-old woman knew each other. Earlier in the day, she sent him a text message inviting Kocalis for sex, Zelig said.

Their tryst began inside his borrowed Porsche SUV but moved to a spot near the tennis courts because the car’s alarm kept going off, Zelig said.

After it was over, Kocalis drove the woman home, the lawyer said. She fabricated a story about being raped because she missed her curfew and Kocalis refused to lend her $20, Zelig said.

“It was determined her story was not credible whatsoever,” Zelig said outside court. “It was completely made up.”

This is a War on Men, whatever else you want to call it. An utterly innocent man was arrested, thrown in jail, and held on $1.2 million bail because this bitch was pissed he didn’t lend her $20 and she needed an excuse to tell her parents why she was out late.

Another false rape accusation leads to a man’s public shaming, and you can lay the blame on a feminist cunt propaganda machine that’s plugged into every apparatus of our tyrannical state. These noxious miscarriages of justice wouldn’t happen with such regularity if the legal system weren’t so prejudicially inclined to assume the best of women’s intentions and the worst of men’s.

Fuck feminism, fuck feminist water carriers like Emma Watson, and fuck the white knights lapping the runny shit of feminist hags for promises of steamy pig snatch.

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