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Archive for the ‘Goodbye America’ Category

British women (and American women moreso) really have been getting beefier over the past few generations.

[T]he average modern woman would seem like a giant to her great-great-grandmother, because in the past 80 years all measurements of the female body have increased dramatically.Yet it’s nothing to do with genetics – simply a result of the way we live.

Marilyn Monroe was not the “curvy” woman feminists love to hold up as a fat apologist icon. She was thinner and daintier than today’s modern woman in every conceivable way.

So how have diet and lifestyle conspired to have such a rapid effect on evolution?

Environmental shocks.

1920s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 31-20-32

Despite widespread poverty, the Twenties’ diet was in some ways healthy. Convenience food did not exist and meals, which involved much peeling and chopping of vegetables, were higher in carbohydrates.

A typical breakfast consisted of porridge or bread and butter. Lunch – the main meal of the day – might have been meat pie with cabbage and potatoes, followed by apple pie and custard. Tea would have been lighter – perhaps a pork pie or scrambled eggs – with a snack of bread and cheese at bedtime.

In the Twenties, people burned up their calories with physical activity from dawn to dusk. In streets largely free of traffic, children skipped and played hopscotch and tag. Sports were a highly-valued part of the school curriculum, with compulsory PE for all.

Almost everybody walked or cycled to work, and for the many women who worked in the industrial areas of the North, there was a daily grind of physical labour at the factory.

The housewife did not need a personal trainer to keep the surplus pounds at bay. In a world before vacuum cleaners and washing machines, housework kept her trim. There was coal to be fetched, grates to be blacked, floors to be scrubbed, carpets to be beaten – as well as the Monday wash with washboard and mangle.

Moving onto the next generation:

1940s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 33-21-33

[...] Again, it was their highly energetic lifestyle that kept Forties women slim. There was no petrol for cars, and people cycled or walked for miles every day. Girls thought little of walking ten miles home after a Saturday night dance.

With their men off fighting, fashion changed. The curvy feminine look to cheer returning heroes became the order of the day, with fitted suits and belted flowery dresses to show off the waist, and the Flapper’s flattening bodice giving way to the circle-stitched bra.

And Lena’s getting laaaaarrger!!

1960s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 34-24-35

[...] Our lifestyles became less energetic too. Housewives cleaned their homes at the push of a button as washing machines and vacuum cleaners become the norm, while children fell victim to the Left-wing educationists’ decree that competitive sport was ‘divisive’ and state schools saw their playing fields sold off for housing. Before much longer, experts would be talking of the unimaginable – rising rates of obesity in childhood.

The first steps were made on the road towards the classic modern English pear shape, as, for the first time, the bottom of the hourglass figure became bigger than the top.

We’re gonna need a bigger buffet.

1980s

AVERAGE STATISTICS: 35-24-37

By the time the Eighties came along, British woman was well on the way to an irretrievable pear-shape, with her hips measuring two inches more than her bust.

Snacking, eating at one’s desk, in front of the TV and even on public transport became increasingly common, and the habit of three meals a day was jettisoned. The new-style snacks were high in fats and sugars, and even apparently ‘healthy’ foods, such as breakfast cereals and yoghurts, are high in ‘hidden’ calories.

Physical outdoor games for children started to look very uncool in comparison to a video or computer game, and exercise experts reported that Eighties children were dangerously unfit compared to their grandparents.

Nuke the jabba from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

2001

By the year 2000, the pearshape has become even more marked, with the average waistsize having ballooned four inches in 20 years.

Feminist concern trolls wonder why men are “dropping out” of the marriage market. Well, you don’t need a degree in human physiology to spot a blubbery, boner-killing trend.

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Her pockets are longer than her shorts.

Dat body language. It’s like she caught a whiff of dog shit. Betaboy doesn’t know it yet, but she checked out of their one-way playdate relationship long ago.

The story is here, in all its lurid, coalburning detail. I’m warning you so prepare yourself as you see fit. No matter what you tell yourself or others, the deepest recesses of your hindbrain will twitch in revolt. If you’re white. If you’re black, your heart will swell with tribal pride.

A white hottie with a soulless gaze cheated on her beta “””boyfriend””” (see above). And by cheated, I mean she triple lindied into a Rwandan pre-machete spree pep rally and had her clam shucked and pried by a diorama of dark continent dick. Pics and video and insta-taunting tell the tale. Rumor has it the video and pics didn’t catch all the action, and the full measure of her character was assessed by twelve mugging mandingos tickling the back of her throat.

I do enjoy a descriptive id punch.

[NB: She's leaning poolside. Looks like she's a product of a happy middle (upper middle?) class suburb. Witness born for those who want to insist race-crossing sluts are all low class land whales.]

As repulsive as is her self-mockumentary, what her sackless beta shitlapper borefriend did next was (if it’s possible) even more repugnant.

I’ll give you one guess what it was.

.

.

.

.

Drum pail, please….

He forgave his princess.

He forgave her after being subjected, no less, to a barrage of very personal muh dikking.

A man shames not just himself, but his male ancestors and male descendants, the whole lineage in a straight line from past to present to future, when he defends the honor of a dishonorable slattern. He betrays his close kin and extended race. He surrenders his dignity. He prostrates himself for a pence of peripatetic pussy. He is the human equivalent of shit speckle on a public toilet seat. I could carve a better man out of a banana.

Now, if the “””boyfriend””” had just said (in so many words), “Hey, I had my (weirdly platonic) fun with this discount bin whore, and now I’m cutting her loose based on the available evidence of her unsuitability as a long-term mate”, all would be forgiven of him. Her… not so much. But that is stain for another day.

Naturally, given that the attention whoring has grown beyond her limited means of message discipline, the party favor skank has tried to play the “I wuz drugged” get-out-of-slut-shame card, but no one is buying it. As well they shouldn’t. Post-cock rationalizations always carry a whiff of desperate image consultancy.

Where was her father in all this? Has he self-delivered in the aftermath, or did he essentially self-deliver from raising his daughter long ago? There are 99 ways a father can fail his children, but this way is FATHER FAIL numero uno. You’d have to be less than human to not feel the burn of shame if you were this father. Will he show his face in public again? Or doesn’t he care? Is this escapist self-annihilation — by both white father and white daughter — the new growth of an invasive society species that chokes to memetic death the value of fathers and the forward-thinking modesty of daughters?

The less judgmental among you could argue she and her pitifully loyal white knight lapdog and absentee father are sick in the head and deserve compassion. Maybe. But I tend to another hypothesis: What we see happening around us is the symptom of a society that has relinquished all controls over female sexual prerogatives. Female sexuality, when left unattended and free to do as it pleases, often travels into very dark and depraved cul de sacs, and can circle there for generations, creating a vortex that sucks in all civilized life to a pathetic and predictable doom.

Worse, this removal of restrictions on female sexuality has been accompanied by a perverse reaction in the opposite direction to confound men about the true reproductive nature of women. We see rising lockstep with rank sluts a hapless loser beta peasant class who are so ignorant of the masculine behaviors and vibe women crave that they meander helplessly through a sexual market minefield, bouncing bettys bouncing them from one bloody heartache to another. Repeated romantic failure inculcates in the young beta male’s mind a hopelessness that circumscribes his options well beyond what a realistic appraisal of his SMV would demand.

And so what we have here is what you see with this particular beta male… a stockholm syndrome-type of pathological clinginess that feeds on a feared lifelong incelibacy and is conditioned by this fear to rush to the defense of manipulative psychocunts who play ping pong with his blue balls while joyously gobbling the knobs of hooting ferals who live and die on liberating instinct.

***

Flyover naifs claim that plenty of “good girls” can be found. I’ve no doubt. I have lain with many good girls, and have nothing but the fondest memories (of memories made and memories in motion). But that is a non sequitur. The question isn’t whether there are good girls left in America — there are — but whether their numbers as a percentage of the whole are retreating. We have only our life experiences, anecdotes, and coldly sterile data to consult for answers. (Which normally is enough for examination of routine human behavior, but never is when we put the microscope to the monstrous vitals of the lust-fueled id.)

On the life experience and anecdote metrics, these sordid self-debasements of the slut-proud social media class seem to be increasing in frequency and dramatic flourish. Each week brings a romantic ignominy to top the previous week’s sexhibitionism. Girls raging gleefully at the dying light of patriarchal civilization; men raging impotently at the dying loins of their once virile majesty. One simply can’t help but notice change is a-blowin’ in the wind. And personally, I have accrued enough boudoir time with enough high society ladies to know that there is hardly a one — no matter her class, education, intellect, or family background — who doesn’t have clattering skeletons in her walk-in closet, and fewer still who aren’t practiced in the art of camouflaging otherwise.

(And bless their ladylike hearts for feeling the need to attempt the camouflage to appease my masculine prerogative. Truly.)

Data-wise, the evidence is murkier. GSS self-report surveys hint at a sexual cocooning strangely at odds with the growing portfolio of Facebooked frolicking. If true, it perhaps suggests less a hidden chasteness than a bifurcation in the sexual market, split between evangelical virgins and blue city girls gone wild.

The current CDC data veer more toward affirming the anecdotal, but there too the pussy picture is unclear. Some sexually transmitted diseases are on the rise, but teen sex is down (while teen pregnancy is up *head scratch*). Age of first sexual intercourse is up, but rates of throat and anal cancers in younger women are up as well. “Technical virgins”.

(Do white girls slot a 12-dick coal train into the “technical virgin” category? Kind of like how fucking a dog doesn’t really steal a girl’s virginity? It might explain a lot.)

It is as if two worlds — one a last stand by a besieged former empire, the other a new world disorder where chaos reigns supreme — are in our day locked in a death struggle for preeminence. And here we are, living it in technicolor splendor.

It shouldn’t bear repeating, but every time one of these slutbombs explode in the Chateau gardens, there are invariably “players” who chastise Your Unholy Greatness for his perceived judgmentalism and self-defeating yearning for a better past filled with better women.

Yes, reports tell of a past America that was better. Not better in every way, but better in the ways that mattered. And yes, I will admit to some giddy despair over the dissolution of a nation that no longer lays claim to my heart. But I also won’t look a gift ho in the mouth. If a cute girl makes it easy for me and wants to screw after ten minutes of meeting her, I won’t stop her. I won’t conspicuously judge her, either, except by the bewilderment and pain I plant in her when I prematurely recuse myself from her girlfriend expectations a few weeks (or months, if SMV is 7+) later.

The slut is souldead! God save the slut!

The slut is a useful tool. Great fun, great sex, horrible long-term investment. And that’s not just a gut feeling. The whitecoats confirm. There’s a sound evolutionary reason (white) men are attuned to signs of sluttitude and women are aggrieved by sluts in their midst.

And that’s really the crux of the whorecrux. A girl who surrenders her every orifice to a pack of howlhounds live-streaming for a studio audience the slow flaying of her soul will become the woman no worthy man will think twice about marrying. Her humiliation, so abject and complete and perfunctorily recorded for posterity, (though for now she only feels it in fleeting sensations on the back of her neck late at night through the self-medicating haze delivered in warm liquid doses by her muscly rationalization hamster), will render her utterly unmarriageable to the vast majority of quality men with options. This stone cold reality will make her life incalculably harder, and wrest an incalculable torrent of tears from her mother and an incalculable tribute of emotional withdrawal from her father.

A merciful god would find some way to attenuate their torment. God helps those who help themselves. (If by chance some cleansing… salvation… were to befall the family, it would serve a valuable lesson for the others.)

A father’s shame, more profound, maybe, than his daughter’s. Because what is a father’s mission critical job as regards his daughter? It’s to preserve his daughter’s honor and see her off into the world the kind of woman a good man would want to take up. A failure to complete this job discredits him as a father like few other failures can.

This is the normal state of affairs, and shame and guilt have evolved to ensure that civilized fathers and daughters comport themselves in line with the prevailing social norms. But shame is dead in the West, and guilt is following soon in its brother’s wake. Social norms divide and redivide like a multicellular demon embryo, partitioning into separate and competing camps unsurprisingly in line with the diversity of seed that contributed to the demon’s corrupted cuckolded conception. Le Chateau stands a citadel against the alien revocation of these timeless forces of civilization, and for that we are despised by the wayward and wanton. More deserving enemies we could not pray for.

These horror stories always remind me of a fitting song.

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A chilling academic paper titled “The Population Cycle Drives Human History — from a Eugenic Phase into a Dysgenic Phase and Eventual Collapse” landed like a soggy Sunday paper at the Chateau doorstep.

In the period before the onset of demographic transition, when fertility rates were positively associated with income levels, Malthusian pressure gave an evolutionary advantage to individuals whose characteristics were positively correlated with child quality and hence higher IQ, increasing in such a way the frequency of underlying genes in the population. As the fraction of individuals of higher quality increased, technological progress intensified. Positive feedback between technological progress and the level of education reinforced the growth process, setting the stage for an industrial revolution that facilitated an endogenous take-off from the Malthusian trap. The population density rose and with it social and political friction, especially important at the top of the social pyramid. Thus, from a certain turning point of history, the well-to-do have fewer children than the poor. Once the economic environment improves sufficiently, the evolutionary pressure weakens, and on the basis of spreading egalitarian ideology and general suffrage the quantity of people gains dominance over quality. At present, we have already reached the phase of global human capital deterioration as the necessary prerequisite for a global collapse by which the overpopulated earth will decimate a species with an average IQ, still too mediocre to understand its own evolution and steer its course.

Executive summary: Equalism is death.

Longer version: Economic success contains the seed of its own destruction. As a people become wealthier and their miseries alleviated by technology, equalism (formerly known as egalitarianism, or in its looser form as liberalism) finds fertile ground in social discourse, and welfare safety nets grow in breadth and complexity, thwarting the natural evolutionary culling process until the reproductive rewards are shared equally between the fit and unfit, and finally reaching a nadir when the economically unfit become reproductively favored at the expense of the economically fit.

Idiocracy, as I have stated, may be the most prophetic movie of any time. The earth becomes overpopulated with mediocrities and dummies as technology interferes with the natural and healthy culling process, the equalist ideology hastens the dysgenic trend, and finally the barbarians swarm over their demographically dying equalist overlords, ending the civilizational project until the cycle renews and rebirth can find purchase in the smoldering ashes.

The difference now? Nukes. All bets are off on how this iteration of doom will realize its potential. It’s possible the destruction this time around is so complete a new cycle of human transcendence will be stillborn.

What does it mean for humanity to understand its own evolution and to “steer its course”? It means knowing that bleeding hearts lead to bleeding civilizations. A few far-seeing people know the score. A great paternalistic (patriarchal, even) impulse — but one that is necessarily cruel (to be kind) — is needed to steer this darkly enlightened course to a happier outcome. I envision a CH six-point insurance program of collapse prevention:

1. Close the borders to Western nations indefinitely. (Reason is self-evident.)
2. Create voluntary incentives to reduce dysgenic fertility. (Dollars for Depo.)
3. Discourage IQ- and education-based assortative mating. (Successful men pairing off with pretty, but less educationally attained women, is eugenic. The smart, industrious genes are passed more fully around the general population.)
4. Reinvigorate protectionism. (Gutted native wages only intensifies public pressure for government largesse to a growing segment of long-term unemployed.)
5. Eliminate all female-friendly public policies. (No more Title IX, mandated day-care, freebie contraceptives, etc. The evidence is strong that publicly catering to women’s fickle pleasures incentivizes bad things like single mommery, latchkey kids, late marriage, low fertility of the higher classes, and punishment of creative iconoclasts who are the engine of progress.)
6. Reduce proximate diversity. (Social atomization encourages short term time orientation, distrust, and corruption, which lead to incompetence and decay.)

That last one may require a break-up of the US. Ironically, to save America, you must kill it first.

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The Patriarchy is dead. God save the Patriarchy!

In the archives are CH posts about feminist utopias, how they would manifest and the signs that America is becoming a version of one.

If the lesson wasn’t yet clear, matriarchies suck. Historically and present-day, matriarchies (or facsimiles thereof) are associated with poverty, disease, violence and navel-gazing decline. Where a matriarchy is evolving, a civilization is devolving.

Here’s Exhibit M as evidence that we in the US may have crossed a matriarchal Rubicon (Boobicon?):

What used to be underground — gigolos, minus the tacit sex — has gone mainstream. A start-up is offering women their very own personal “ManServant“, or what we in the seduction domculture call “beta male orbiters”, “white knights” and “incels“.

It’s not a stripper who gets naked and rubs his greasy body all over you. It’s a ManServant: a gentleman who treats you like a queen. Book one for a bachelorette party or any gathering to be your personal photographer, bartender, bodyguard, and butler all in one.

How is a ManServant addressed?

A ManServant will answer to the name you’ve bestowed upon him, whether it’s Garçon, Bartholomew, or Ryan Gosling. [ed: John Scalzi and David Fatrelle were taken.]

What is a ManServant’s code of conduct?

A ManServant always responds with “As you wish.”

A ManServant shall address clientele with “My lady.”

A ManServant keeps his penis in his pants and out of the lady’s face.

The Rules to being a ManServant: The lady always makes The Rules.

What are some of the ManServant’s duties?

Takes photos.

Gives round-the-clock compliments.

Cleans up your hot mess.

Going to a ballgame? He’ll be your sports announcer, wait in line for the restroom, and get your hot dogs.

At the club, he’ll act as your bodyguard: secure drinks, shoo away douchebags, and drop off or pick you up curbside.

If it weren’t so ominous it’d be funny.

Naturally, women have to pay for these services, which is telling in itself. Women don’t value men for their penii or sexual prowess. What women value is what women will pay for, and that is male commitment, provisioning, and emotional support.

Just as naturally, real life ManServants get no nookie, because what comforts women in their moments of social need is not the same as what excites them in their moments of sexual need.

ManServitude is just about the end game of the feminist matriarchy. Strip men of all offensive male sexuality — essentially create a kneeling army of eunuchs — and set them loose upon the land to take photos of attention whores and cockblock men with dignity and a working pair.

How soon until ManServitude moves from plucky business venture to accepted cultural practice to legally enforced Damegeld?

Recall CH’s maxim about the true nature of feminism (and, related, the true nature of equalism):

The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

Welcome to AndrogyNation. Where the women are pushed to be men and the men are happy to be women.

I talk a fair bit about the decline of America, but theatrical aplomb aside I never seriously entertained the thought that the collapse of my country would happen within my lifetime. Now I’ve begun to wonder.

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The Goodbye, America photo series now has its own website. Drop by, admire the purity of decline, and leave a comment as evidence that you were there when America started to swirl the drain. A future addition called the “poolside meter” will rank the month’s best photos and comments.

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A survey of 670 North American white collar workers revealed who is the unhappiest (and happiest) of them all.

According to the survey, the happiest workers are:

  • Male
  • 39 years old
  • Married
  • Have a household income between $150,000 and $200,000
  • Hold a senior management position
  • Have one young child at home
  • Have a wife who works part-time

while the unhappiest workers are:

  • Female
  • 42 years old
  • Unmarried
  • Have a household income under $100,000
  • Work in a professional position (i.e., as a doctor or a lawyer).

What we have here… is failure to assimilate to the feminist utopia. Some women you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here these past 60 years, which is the way ugly bitter feminists want it… well, they get it. Careerist gogrrl spinsters who go to sleep and wake every morning with a shiver of doom running down their necks. Unhappy 130IQ cat ladies as far as the eye can see, staining their graduate degrees with hot tears.

I don’t like it any more than you men, but I will leverage it for my personal gain.

Blame flies in all directions, but the most obvious one. The Bitches of Feastdick whine that their feminist droids are unhappy because men aren’t picking up the slack in the domestic sphere. Androgyne, Inc. stockholders say that women worry more about the home life and we need to help them worry less by mandating various stay-at-office motherhood initiatives, like on-site daycare.

They flail and they flog their plush lush lies that protect them from the stone cold truth… the truth that is incontestable and harmonious and rooted in eons of evolutionary blueprint:

Men and women are happier when they abide traditional sex roles.

Reject biology, feel unhappy. It’s that simple. Work within the contours of your sex’s biology, and you will feel like a finely tuned instrument discarding cacophony and alighting upon melodious serenity.

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Comments are disabled on all posts published during Approach Week to encourage readers to limit their internet time and go outside to apply the lessons they have learned here. Approach Week celebrates the spirit of the approach, which is, in essence, a celebration of the spirit of assertive masculinity.

Continuing with CH’s Goodbye America in a Photo series, here’s the latest entry from “Sharpshooter“.

class. it doesn’t come in a can.

He explains,

Gotta classic photo for your Goodbye America campaign (attached).  I figured a newly minted bride chugging a four loko [ed: Four Loko is a prole alcoholic energy drink that a few states tried to ban for reasons of health safety] whilst being cheered on by the surrounding groomsmen (a couple she’s more than likely fellated) and bridesmaids is a microcosm of what this campaign is all about.

It’s tragically funny how the culture has changed so much that people automatically suspect one or more groomsmen at a wedding have had, at one time or anther, a piece of the bride’s downy. Our expectations for female behavior have shifted to a lower valence. Yes, the message this photo delivers is “A wedding is just another excuse to get drunk enough to forget that you’re marrying a beta buxtoy and will probably cheat in five years time.”

Personally, this isn’t half as bad as some of the Goodbye America photo submissions I’ve seen so far. But I post it because it speaks to a general corrosion of class among both sexes, but a corrosion which is especially pronounced among women. Class, in all classes, seems to be on the way out, if it hasn’t already made its final exit.

It makes sense if you realize that Western societies are moving away from K-selection (delayed reproduction, emphasis on monogamy and relationship investment, division of sexual labor) and toward r-selection (early sexual maturation, emphasis on polyamory and relationship instability, convergence of sexual labor). Raw sexual display by women — and this is what we mean by “low class” — will increase in a society gradually becoming more r-selection oriented.

It’s all part and parcel of cultural exhaustion and decline, exemplified by the twisted, ugly, and classless imposing their values on the normal, beautiful, and noble.

PS Happy Independence from Accountability Day!

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