Archive for the ‘Hungry Hungry Hippos’ Category

E’rebody not in da club getting tipsy over this blubbery fat chick scene from a recent Louis CK episode.

For reasons that cannot be explained by the established laws of logic, a great hue and squeal from the ungulate freak parade has arisen to rejoice over this scene as a breakthrough for Realtalk™ about the lives of fat chicks.

“As brilliant as the speech is, and as brilliant as Baker’s performance is, what makes this work is Louie’s willingness to just stand there and take it,” Forbes contributor Allen St. John writes. “He makes a few lame gestures in self-defense, but even if Vanessa largely refuses to judge him, we don’t. Louie is a jerk.”

Baker told EW she thought the scene “was so beautifully written.”

“My interpretation of it was that she’s (telling Louie), ‘You saying, “You’re not fat,” is like saying, ‘The worst thing a woman can be is fat, so I’m not gonna call you that,’ ” Baker said. “Whereas she’s kinda like, ‘Yeah, I’m fat. You know, I’m nice, I’m funny, I’m cute — so who cares?’ “

Writing for the A.V. Club, Libby Hill applauded Louis C.K. for starting the conversation.

“No matter how sad it may be that the only way many will start to understand this maligned populace is if a white guy explains it to them, the fact remains that through the platform of his critically acclaimed show, Louis C.K. has given voice to the fat girl,” she writes.

Funny, all I saw was a fat girl bitch about how tough it is for her to date and have happy relationships. This is news to anyone? No, of course it isn’t. The keepers of GoodSpeak want this scene to stand in for a “national discussion” about yet another loser cohort of society so that they can mold the direction the ensuing “discussion” takes. And you can bet the direction the Hivemind keepers want to take it is toward more and more proselytizing about how wonderful it is to be a fat girl (fat men get a media pass from this supposed wonderfulness) and how easily fat girls can get men when they aren’t demanding that men stop ignoring them and love them for their inner beauty.

Frustratingly for the Hivemind, Chateau Heartiste exists to jam sand in their sophistic gears. For example, here’s the true message of the Louis CK fat girl screed with all the tears and passive-aggressiveness and barely concealed entitlement stripped from her big-boned frame.

FATTY: Why do you hate us so much?

That’s not hate, Ms Wideload, that’s disgust. Fat chicks are like wet dog shit. You don’t hate the dog shit, you just don’t want to step in it.

Now if the dog shit starts making a nuisance of itself, say, by getting in your face and demanding you accept its under-appreciated beauty, or by organizing dog shit advocacy groups to change culture and law to better accommodate the feelings of dog shit, and to persuade others to become more like dog shit, then one may feel actual hate toward the dog shit.

FATTY: What is it about the basics of human happiness, feeling attractive, feeling loved, having guys chase after us, that’s just not in the cards for us?

To ask is to answer. Romantic attraction is biological, which is ultimately genetic, which means it is unalterable by weepy protests to the contrary or by reeducation camps masquerading as sitcoms. Most men are as repulsed by fat women as most women are repulsed by weak men.

FATTY: How is that fair?

Fairness has got nothin’ to do with it.

FATTY: And why am I supposed to just accept it?

Because you don’t yet have the legal recourse to force men to bed with porkers.

FATTY: You know what’s funny? I flirt with guys, all the time.

The uglier the woman, the more actively she has to communicate her sexual receptivity.

FATTY: And I mean, the great looking ones, like the really high caliber studs, they flirt right back, no problem.

They know they have a better shot with your hot skinny friend if they’re magnanimous with you.

FATTY: But guys like you never flirt with me, because you get scared, like maybe you should be with a girl like me.

More like, they’re worried that flattering a fat chick will give her the wrong idea.

FATTY: You know, if you were standing over there, looking at us, you know what you’d see? That we totally match.

Fat chick projection. Physically a fat man and fat girl match, but men’s SMV is more than the sum of their fat deposits.

FATTY: Have you ever wooed a fat girl?

I’ve mooed a fat girl.

FATTY: Go ahead, hold my hand. What do you think’s gonna happen? Do you think your dick’s gonna fall off?

No, it’s much worse than that for the fat girl. His dick won’t do anything.

FATTY: You know what’s sad? That’s all I want.

Lack of options = low standards.

Some mush-headed liberals, though, are unhappy with the message.

But not everyone is a fan. Writer Dan Weiss explored the episode for The Concourse, noting that “there’s zero representation for actual FAs (‘fat admirers,’ which is admittedly a voyeuristic term; I prefer the classic ‘chubby chaser’) on TV.”

I prefer the term fatty fucker. And if the wailing of fat chicks is any indication, there aren’t nearly enough desirable fatty fuckers to feast at the porcine troughs of America’s fatties.

In this putatively “groundbreaking” Louis CK scene that has the Jezebel hags dizzy with the possibility of careening down a fresh semantic path that defies the mirror, Louis is no more a jerk than is any woman who turns down a man for insufficiently meeting her attractiveness criteria. But since the lamentable is a fat chick instead of an awkward beta male it’s socially acceptable to sympathize with her loser pain and revile the man who presumptuously clings to his outmoded sexual preference.

Conflict, and unfairness, are intrinsic to the sexual market. Attraction is innate and impervious to cultural campaigns to alter its algorithm. If fat chicks resent that, there is a solution…

Push away from the table.

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Read this OkCupid profile and try to guess the sex of the person who wrote it.

Don’t read further until you’ve made your guess.




Still guessing?











These are your American women. Delightfully feminine bunch, ain’t they? This profile, minus a few giveaways, could easily pass for the braggadocio of a fraternity brother.

And brow-furrowed femcunts wonder why men won’t “man up” and marry these drunk slatterns.

The blocked out part was a brag about her blowjob technique. Translation: She’s a fat sow who has to advertise her sexual depravity to get any attention from the losers she likely hooks up with once in a fat moon.

Grotesqueries like this beast exist. The revelation for a lot of people would be the kind of “lovers” she manages to score. I bet a lot of proud feminists claiming satisfying love lives would abandon the opinionator sphere if pictures of their “””boyfriends”””” and unbiased third-party accounts of the charming personalities of the men who lap the smegma of their moldy feminist snappers were to become public knowledge.

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Fat apologists:

Environmental shocks:

Keepin’ it real.

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Facebook Likes are a cancer on society. They glorify feels and enervate reason. They abet lies and exile truth. But they do perform a valuable service for the keen observer of civilizational decay. The FB Like, and what gets Liked most, are revealing glimpses into a nation’s character, and especially the character of its women, for whom Facebook Likes are happy drugs for their gluttonous egos. Remove the Like, and severe withdrawal symptoms manifest, similar to the effects one sees from the psychological damage that incurs after an extended stint in an isolation chamber.

A reader passes along two telling examples.

I found these two pictures today on my FB friend’s feed.  (They aren’t my friends, fortunately, but they are friends of friends.)  Both got lots of “likes” and supportive comments.  I thought of you as soon as I saw them.

Since most of Facebook is a wasteland of middling SMV women patting each other on the backs for awe-inspiring accomplishments like getting knocked up by a black guy or sucking down in one gulp a boat of sugar through a straw, it’s fair to say that what gets Liked is what American women like. And what American women like is, to put a coarse point on it, a mountain of shit.

What do American women and their yappy beta orbiters like so much that they feel compelled to craft a public consensus of their PC boilerplate?
– Mystery meat fetuses.
– Interracial dating.
– Male empathy pregnancies.
– Fat chicks.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine on ice cream sundaes that could sustain a family of four for a week.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine while insouciantly arched eyebrows that demand acceptance leap from their bloated brows.

Could this country and its people be going down the shitter any faster? Forget Rome’s historical precedence. America is in double-time decline, setting new records of scraping bottom as we speak. I think I will dub this Millennifag cohort the Like Me Generation. “Like me, because if you don’t I’ll have a mental breakdown as the realization that I’m a mediocrity sweeps over me. Nothing less than total unanimity in judgment of my awesomeness and the rightness of my knee-jerk emotional opinions will keep me alive another day.”

Yeah, no. I think instead I will take this shiv and give it an extra twist in your guts, just because I like… yes, Like… watching you effete nancies and spluttering mutants scream bloody murder. And you know what? The country will become a place truly worth liking for your suffering.

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Have you ever wondered what drives some women to the cult of feminism, when every real world observation refutes nearly all the foundational premises of feminism? Why do so many women cleave to such a wrong-headed, insipid ideology?

Chateau Heartiste explained the phenomenon of feminism as shivvily as possible:

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

Feminists, in other words, nurture a fantasy that by sheer force of blather they can remake the sexual market to suit their every whim and desire while curtailing to the maximum extent possible any romantic choice enjoyed by men.

This theory neatly clarifies the motives of all sorts of poopytalk that dribbles from the cheetos-stained lips of feminists. To wit:

Indignation over fat/slut shaming = Demands to be simultaneously as physically repulsive and depraved as one wishes while remaining attractive to any man one desires, regardless of men’s wishes to the contrary.

Social conditioning of sexual preference = Religious belief that men’s sexual preferences can be changed to find fat, ugly or old women attractive, while at the same time any preference women enjoy is empowering and immediately satisfiable.

Patriarchal oppression/privilege = Unfalsifiable rationale for the depressing consequences that unattractive women endure in the sexual market. Promotes idea that low SMV women can be happy once “male oppression” is defeated.

Rape culture = Limitless choice to women to redefine their sexual experiences however they please, (and to benefit from the labeling as they see fit). Men, in contrast, are burdened with automatically impugned guilt for any sexual transaction they may enjoy.

By the Beard of Amanda Marcotte, alongs comes ♥♥♥science♥♥♥ to slurp the CH knob to completion.

Value-added commenter (yes, value-added… hint hint to you dopier commenters) chris writes,

My God. I think he just described feminism here:

Second, high status and very attractive women need less help and protection from other women and are less motivated to invest in other women (who represent potential competition). Thus, a woman who tries to distinguish or promote herself threatens other women and will encounter hostility. According to Benenson, a common way women deal with the threat represented by a remarkably powerful or beautiful woman is by insisting on standards of equality, uniformity, and sharing for all the women in the group and making these attributes the normative requirements of proper femininity.

He is talking about this study here:


Throughout their lives, women provide for their own and their children’s and grandchildren’s needs and thus must minimize their risk of incurring physical harm. Alliances with individuals who will assist them in attaining these goals increase their probability of survival and reproductive success. High status in the community enhances access to physical resources and valuable allies. Kin, a mate, and affines share a mother’s genetic interests, whereas unrelated women constitute primary competitors. From early childhood onwards, girls compete using strategies that minimize the risk of retaliation and reduce the strength of other girls. Girls’ competitive strategies include avoiding direct interference with another girl’s goals, disguising competition, competing overtly only from a position of high status in the community, enforcing equality within the female community and socially excluding other girls.

So feminists’ promotion of anti slut-shaming and anti fat-shaming and anti ugly-shaming and anti single-mother-shaming etc, is really just an execution of women’s intra-sexual competitive strategies. It’s the bottom third of women versus the top two thirds. Or perhaps it’s the bottom quarter, as if I remember correctly only 20-25% of women identify as feminist.

With knowledge such as this, you can easily reframe any leftist/feminist argument about a war on women as instead a war by the bottom loser women against the top successful women.

It’s the SU’s (Sluts & Uglies) versus the HB’s.

The benefit of such tactical reframing is; what woman wants to be seen as a loser (ugly and slutty) and not as a winner (beautiful and lovely)? What woman wants to belong to the bottom quarter and not the top three quarters? To admit this would be to destroy their feminine egos. With such reframing, you could get the hamster working for you.

Great stuff. It’s a nifty addendum to the CH Theory of Feminism above. Low SMV women embrace feminism as a social mechanism to alternately decrease competition from more beautiful women and increase the sexual choice of, and the access to societal (read: male) resources for, uglier women.

Elevating the status and the perceived value of the ugly and the monstrous, and simultaneously disparaging the normal and the healthy, is the true motivation of feminists. Their nefarious goal is the renormalization of society and the sexual market to a lower aesthetic; one that is more congenial to the fates of the unloved women.

Feminism is not about a war on women; feminism is a war OF women. Womano-a-womano. All that bleating about equality and judgmentalism and slut shaming and the patriarchy is just the squid ink ugly broads expectorate to give them a fighting chance in the all-against-all, zero-sum competition for mates.

Feminists will lose, of course. The sexual market cares nothing for sophistry. In the final analysis, only the boner and the tingle matter.

Interestingly, a case can be made — hell, a case WILL be made — that the American obesity epidemic and quack-wave feminism have risen in lockstep out of necessity. As the population of reproductive-age women has increasingly become fatter and uglier, the number of women needing the equalist semantics of feminism to assure their place at the sexual market table has grown (heh) accordingly. More fatsos = more equalizing cant.

So you see how obesity, feminism, and equalism intersect, interweave, reinforce, and gluttonously feed each other. CH makes no glib assertion when we compare the obesity plague to the ugliness and lies of feminism and equalism. They are all born of the same toxic mentality, issuing from the breast of the Lord of Lies himself, and their waste and foulness and repugnance and stink and deception flows outward like hellshit, suffocating truth and beauty under an ash cloud of offal.

To the casual observer, a random fat chick may seem to have no relation to, say, anti-white animus. But they are connected in ways deep and true, even if the players themselves remain unaware of their invisible binds. This is why, when you fight one, you fight the other. Strike a shaming blow against obesity, and you draw blood from a degenerate open borders scumbag and a screaming banshee pushing for women at the front lines.

As a count or countess of CH, your enemy is, and should always be, the enemies of truth and beauty.

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Occasionally, barely concealed incipient concern trolls will ask why CH gives so much shit to obstreperous fatties instead of just leaving them to their moribund misery.

The answer — besides a vigorous reminder that CH is not a camp of saints — is that loud and proud fatso promoters deliver a caustic, soul destroying message that will increase the total amount of ugliness and unhappiness in the world should women reading their lies start to believe them. Fat apologist feminists who insist on writing manifestos excusing or rationalizing or glorifying their fatness, or slandering anti-fat crusaders, will get, and do very much deserve, both barrels of the shivgun. Call it environmental activism. Call it the penile erection protection program.

Lies must be met with truth. Ideally, that truth comes packaged in stylistic ordnance that explodes in a shower of entertaining dazzle for fence-sitting gawkers and liquidates the central processing egos of the blubbery lie machines. Utterly annihilated, their demolecularized fatty essence scattered to the wind, the suffering fat chick (and it’s almost always a chick claiming fatness is fine, which should tell you something) howling in pain and impotent indignation serves as an example for the others: If you spread filthy lies that cause, intentionally or consequentially, women to be stripped of their beauty and thus men deprived of their happiness, CH will be here at the ready, the tip of its nimble hate spear plunging deep into your ululating hindbrain, probing, excavating, and finally stabbing with the force of a thousand unleashed hells the heart of your scarred, coal black id.

Fat shaming now, fat shaming tomorrow, fat shaming forever! MOOAH!

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Vox has a post about identifying future female fatties which references a study that found differences in MRI scans of the brains of women when viewing food or exercise. Women whose brains essentially bellyached at the sight of exercise were more likely to fatten up for the pig roast.

CH would like to e’er so ‘umbly suggest less invasive, and perhaps equally predictive, methods for determining which girl you date today has a good shot of becoming a gross fatty tomorrow.

There are four tests, listed in descending order of predictive power.

1. The Mom Test

If her mom is fat, she’ll be fat. If her mom was fat in old pictures of herself, she’ll be fat REAL SOON. The Mom Test is about as close to a guarantee of future daughter fatness as you can get. Prepare yourself for the inevitable by acquiring new numbers and warming up your texting-while-dumping thumbs.

2. The Wrist Test

She’s thin where it most counts but her wrists are old growth logs. Watch out! The wrist bones are a dead giveaway that she has the sturdy frame to support future poundage. She might not bloat to Jabba proportions, but she will “fill out”, to use a transparently softening euphemism.

3. The Diet History Test

Does she have a history of dieting? This may take some digging to uncover, but girls who have dieted in the past are prone to dieting in the present, and they will self-incriminate about previous attempts to lose weight, failed or successful. Naturally and durably slender women rarely, if ever, actively diet. “Actively” is the key word here, since it is possible to “diet” by simply choosing certain lifestyles without making a consciously pained effort to do so. A woman whose past is littered with the detritus of planned diets is one weak moment away from turning into a post-blueberry Violet Beauregarde.

4. The Unprompted Exercise Test

Does she jump into exercise without being prompted by external influences such as peers, scheduled class times on her phone calendar, or gym fads popularized on celebrity websites? Does she undertake exercise with a smile rather than a groan? Then she’s a thin-for-life keeper! But be careful about using total exercise hours spent as a measurement of a thin girl’s propensity to stay thin. If she has to be pushed into exercise, then she can just as easily be pushed out of it by eviler life influences. And many fat girls do log impressive amounts of time curling 1 lb pink dumbbells and strolling on treadmills at the lowest speed setting. The crucial variable, then, is a girl’s eagerness to exercise, and especially her eagerness to exercise alone. This is a girl who moves her body not to lose weight, but to stimulate a dopamine rush. Happily, a welcome side effect of that dopamine craving is a slenderness that just won’t quit.

So there you have it. Tally your girlfriend’s score.

Would you bang her sexy mom? Check.
Are her wrists like songbird legs? Check.
Is her idea of a diet not eating like a hog? Check.
Does she run five miles without advertising it to the whole world, or making a Hollywood production out of it? Check.

Congratulations! You have a girl whose tight hourglass bod will hold up for years, and even decades, to come. I’d say slap a ring on it, but that’s the one test that will reverse the positive result of passing all four of the above Future Fatty Tests.

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