Archive for the ‘Marriage Is For Chumps’ Category

Some religious organizations have long argued that widespread contraception use leads to higher divorce rates because severing the connection between sex and procreation also severs the emotional connection between spouses. The duty one feels to one’s spouse is weakened when the primal bonds of sex and the consequences which normally follow in the state of nature are thwarted.

They may have a point, but I’m going to present what I believe is a more compelling reason why contraception use (predominately the Pill) and divorce track each other so closely. For a graphical representation of how closely the rate of Pill usage and the rate of divorce have tracked over time, see this (original source here):

That five year lag time between the rise in pill use and divorce is critical. It’s solid evidence that once women had the Pill down their throats, they began escaping their marriages in droves.

The Pill is one of the Six Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse. Like opening Clamdora’s Box, the Pill is one of the six crimson spirits that now haunt the world and visit upon the civilized West far-reaching unintended (and perhaps intended) negative effects. Why would Pill usage contribute to a rise in the divorce rate? For an answer to that, you have to look to women first, and how the Pill alters their perceptions of men.

And what the Pill does to women’s brains is… how shall we say… veeeery interestink. Women on the Pill experience a shift in their mate selection criteria and begin to prefer plodding dads over plotting cads. Actually, not so much prefer boring betas as avoid sexy alphas.

Extrapolating from this premise is enlightening. What do most delicious SWPL sluts women using oral contraceptives do once they get married, or not long after getting married? That’s right, they go off the Pill so that they can start a family. And what happens when women go off the Pill? Their hindbrains shed the fog of feeling satisfied with beta male cuddles and revert to adoring sexy alpha male power thrusts, and that adoration reaches maximum cervical impact one week per month when fertile.

So perhaps the Pill and its relation to divorce is not so much about severing emotional connections as it is about reconstructing sexual connections. The wife whose lust is freed from the false prison of the Pill will suddenly, and quite inexplicably to her conscious evaluation, discover her beta husband — the man who fulfilled her in most ways when she was on the Pill — is sexually repulsive. This disgust will reach a crescendo 25% of the time of her pre-menopausal life, and she will either succumb to cheating with a more dominant man, or she will do the “right thing” and leave a marriage that is making her unhappy because her beta betrothed-turned-beta bother doesn’t know how to “communicate” with her and “meet her needs”.

And of course the beta hubschlub, tricked by the Pill’s abetting and steeped in his anti-male culture and believing everything the wife wants is good and true and everything the husband wants is wicked and false, will do the EXACT OPPOSITE of what he should do to reignite his wife’s post-Pill listing libido. He will crank up the beta, figuring that more of what sealed the deal in the first place is just the medicine to prevent the deal from breaking.

And he will be sorely mistaken, and for his good-faith efforts at reconciliation against the headwinds of unacknowledged and often heatedly denied biological reality the state will reward him with a family court ass-ramming so deep and girthful he will come to accept as a means of psychological emollient that his life is rightfully meant to be a dutifully suffered shitfest endured with stiff upper lip. And then he will be a dead man walking.

The problem of post-Pill wives losing their desire for their husbands is so bad that drug companies are trying to create a compensating pill — call it the Thrill — that will reinvigorate flagging female libidos. The intention is to cure “hypoactive sexual-desire disorder,” aka HSDD, by tapping into the primal recesses of the female brain and manipulating lustful brain lobes into activity.

The Thrill may work, but I bet not in the way the researchers intend. This is because the “problem” is not so much low female libido, but low female libido for their betaboy husbands. The added clause is crucial. A pill that fuels female clit boners will reawaken women… straight into the arms of interloper alpha males. Imagine a world of supercharged horny housewives boffing everyone in sight. Shit just got a lot more interesting.

A Thrill pill that tricks wives into perceiving their beta husbands as sexy romance novel stranger-from-afar badboy alphas may or may not work to strengthen the institution of marriage, but I can tell you one intervention that is GUARANTEED to help your marriage: Game. Specifically, dread game. A small adjustment in your mentality and behavior toward being more of an alpha male can gain you all the benefits of a thrill pill-popping wife with none of the dangerous side effects.

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So Tamerlan Tsarnaev, the older Muslim Boston bomber brother, had a loving white American wife of WASPy lineage who donned his approved Islamic head coverage and bore him his hell-spawnage. Some have asked, where was Katherine Russell’s father during her descent into badboy servitude? If the photo of the dad after news of Tamerlan’s death is any indication, the guy is giddy that his son-in-law is no longer for this world.

Arranged marriages don’t sound like much fun, but one problem with moving as a culture toward exclusively love-based marriage is that it neuters the ability of parents to exert any control over their daughters’ instinctual romantic compulsions. The ancients knew that women’s libidos were dangerous when left unchecked. But a culture that prizes doe-eyed love as the be-all and end-all of legitimate marriage must come to terms with the fact that many women love the wrong kinds of men. It’s in their genes.

When lust-fueled love as a basis for forming putative lifelong marital unions crowds out all other considerations, the influence that parents wield over their daughters’ mate choices gets winnowed as well. After all, who is a parent to say what his or her daughter feels? Love knows no reason. And so what you get is fathers like the one above, powerless to stop his daughter’s stupid decisions, and overjoyed when fate steps in to excise the cancer from his family that he wished he could excise himself, but never had the guts nor the informal societal support to do so.

Love makes betas of men, in more ways than one, and it would be wise to remember that some of those men are fathers whose authority has been gutted by the awesome power of love.

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In the March 2013 Beta of the Month contest, nominee #2 was a plush squeezable who constructed a twelve day extravaganza proposal for his chubby girlfriend, filmed it and set it to music by twelve indie band drummers (which must have cost a pretty penny, if they weren’t doing it as a favor for him). Commenter RappaccinisDaughter suggested a motivation for these elaborate proposal rituals:

The epic-proposal guy is forgivable because there’s kind of a cultural push in certain circles to plan ever-more-elaborate proposals. It’s more of a dick-measuring contest than anything else. He’s establishing among his circle that he’s the most clever, thoughtful, meticulous one among them.

Male status whoring? No. Men status whore by parading a hot babe on their arms. That’s how they deliver in the most direct manner possible the message that they have the goods to outcompete other men. No man that I know is impressed by a creatively exhaustive epic proposal event. If anything, men feel the opposite feeling when they are exposed to these courtship calisthenics by princess pedestalizing suck-up chumps: they feel disgust. Repugnance. Pity. Even contempt. No man watches one of these Cannes Film Festival proposals and thinks to himself, “Now there’s a high status alpha male I’d like to emulate.”

Usually what they’re saying to themselves instead is something like, “What a tool. She’s already got his balls in a jar.”

The reason is simple: Men sacrifice more by committing to marriage. It is the woman who is “alpha” for successfully extracting commitment from a man. A man who gives up his commitment is the equivalent of a woman who gives up her pussy; no skill involved, so no reflection on their respective statuses.

Here’s a better theory to explain the recent surge in elaborate, saccharine proposals:

It’s mate guarding behavior by beta males.

The beta male is essentially signaling to potential male competitors that his wife-to-be was so ostentatiously wooed by him she will never entertain the thought of cheating with another man, so don’t bother. He has her on “lock-down“. The elaborate proposal is also a mate guarding signal to the girlfriend that the beta male will jealously patrol the boundaries of his one-woman harem. It is perhaps even a signal to other women that he has enough energy to sustain the company of a mistress, although I would expect this latter reason to be more indicative of the machinations of a greater beta or alpha male.

Why would the elaborate proposal surge in frequency and fussiness in our current dystopian Beaver Runner society? Well, extreme mate guarding behavior is what you find in societies where paternity guarantee is low, fidelity guarantee is low, and cock carousel cad hopping risk is high. Or at least the normal social constraints on cock carouseling are loosened. Beta males in such societies are horribly outgunned by sexy cads, because the usual leverage that beta males bring to the marital table — their resources — has been devalued by women’s economic self-sufficiency and generous state and corporate largesse.

The game insight here should be clear: don’t mate guard. Or, more precisely, don’t transparently mate guard. If you mate guard, you signal your betatude. The more diligently you mate guard, the more your girl will perceive you as having few mate options other than herself, and her labia will wither like rose petals in a Texas drought. Because chicks dig dudes who could fuck other chicks if they had a mind to.

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Khaaaaan has a post up about a German study which purports to show that the cuckoldry rate — situations where the presumed father is not the biological father of the child — in Germany is around 1%. (Via Glpiggy.)

A few words on that. First, misattribution of paternity can occur in any number of ways. Steve Sailer left some good comments over at Khan’s blog that illustrate in real life, flesh and blood scenarios how cuckoldry rates can be misattributed. Nevertheless, I’m not here to argue that the 1% figure is wrong. In fact, the 1% figure is higher than I assumed. Look at it this way: That recorded 1% cuckoldry rate is more than 30 TIMES the US recorded rape rate of 0.03%.

Besides the actual rate, there are other angles to this id-loaded topic that are worth exploring.

A flaw in assuming present-day cuckoldry rates align with historical cuckoldry rates is the fairly recent widespread availability of contraceptives and abortion. How many women who sleep with interloper males are using birth control? Probably most, and more so if those women are higher SES. How many are aborting the fetus, should contraception fail or not be used, before hubby finds out or is doomed to raise a child as an unwitting cuckold? Again, I’d guess most. That 1% figure may simply be a reflection of the fact that cheap and effective modern contraceptives bite into a possibly larger historical cuck rate. And since our sexual natures are the product of millions of years of fine-tuning, it would make sense for male jealousy and mate-guarding instincts to have evolved, especially if the real cuckoldry rate (and not just the “don’t worry, I’m on the Pill” shadow cuckoldry rate in which the act is performed but the consequence is averted) in the environment of evolutionary adaptation was considerably higher than 1%.

Or: Don’t start hedging your bets that women are no more than 1% evil.

Then there is the issue of serial monogamy. Serial monogamy is much more the norm now than it was in the past. Women on second marriages (or on post-divorce second dating lives) bring their kids from the first marriage into any new relationship. As much as the new boyfriend or husband might not want those bastards around him, he is going to participate in their raising in some form or another if he plans on banging out the mother for any length of time greater than two weeks. He is, in effect, a de facto cuckold, albeit an informed and, presumably, voluntary one. (Though the definition of voluntary is a bit loose when one is put in the position of weighing the odds of future fux against the pain of supporting present bastards. Duress matters if you are a desperate beta male willing to put up with snot-nosed shit to get some floppy, aged action.)

Women, too, are subject to unwelcome participation in the raising of unrelated children if they are in second relationships with divorced single dads, but in practice this punishment is not meted out to women nearly as often as it is to men, because it is usually the ex-wife who has full-time custody of her kids, or the single mom who is solely raising her hatchlings, and hence it is usually the sloppy seconds beta male who is getting the screws by groveling for sexual relief from these SMV leftovers.

So there are really two kinds of cuckoldry: De facto and deceptive. The latter is far worse from a moral calculus (it really is the equivalent of female rape, except the pain is dragged out over eighteen years) but the former is no less an indictment of the growing dysfunction of the modern sexual market.

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Back in September of 2012, CH highlighted a study which showed that modern couples who share the housework are at far higher risk of divorce than couples where the woman does most of the domestic duties.

Divorce rates are far higher among “modern” couples who share the housework than in those where the woman does the lion’s share of the chores, a Norwegian study has found.

In what appears to be a slap in the face for gender equality, the report found the divorce rate among couples who shared housework equally was around 50 per cent higher than among those where the woman did most of the work.

Women have been claiming for God knows how long that they want a man who will do his share of the housework, but when he does, their vaginas dry up like the Sahara. You see, equality of the sexes is a myth. Women don’t *really* want equal husbands. What women want are strong husbands who don’t act like women, which means, in practice, not puttering around the house dusting, mopping, vacuuming, cooking, or doing the laundry.

Right on cue, feminists plugged their ears. The ones who stumbled into this happy hating ground tore at their pendulous breasts. Even the trolls had no room to maneuver a subterfuge.

As good as that post was, there is a new study out which may trump it in delicious equalist-eviscerating goodness. Following in the same vein as the study above, researchers discovered that married men who do more housework have less sex.

Husbands who spend more time doing traditionally female chores — such as cooking, cleaning, and shopping — reported having less sex than those who do more masculine tasks, said the study in the American Sociological Review.

“Our findings suggest the importance of socialized gender roles for sexual frequency in heterosexual marriage,” said lead author Sabino Kornrich, of the Center for Advanced Studies at the Juan March Institute in Madrid.

“Couples in which men participate more in housework typically done by women report having sex less frequently. Similarly, couples in which men participate more in traditionally masculine tasks — such as yard work, paying bills, and auto maintenance — report higher sexual frequency.” [...]

“The results suggest the existence of a gendered set of sexual scripts, in which the traditional performance and display of gender is important for creation of sexual desire and performance of sexual activity,” Kornrich said.

When men are men and women are women, the sex is more frequent. And probably hotter, too. When men are scalzied manboobs and women are manjawed feminists, the bedroom is an arid wasteland of dashed passion.

Sexual polarity — the primal force that adheres the cosmic cock to the celestial snatch — is the truth of truths that belies every feminist assertion ever made in the history of that insipid, leprotic ideology. May the losers of the world quake and fall to their knees before its divine directive.

This isn’t a truth borne of social constructs, or of cultural conditionings, or of privileges of privilege. It’s a truth woven into the fabric of our origin atoms, the glue that binds our helical commandments and reaches outward to breathe life into the monolith of our souls.

It is what is.

The “correlation is not causation” crowd will surely attempt a say with this study, but you know what? It won’t matter whether it’s a primarily correlational or causal force which accounts for the reality of this particular intrinsic sex-based dynamic. If you are a man interested in sparking your flailing marriage and reigniting your wife’s dying lust, and you have come here to the Chateau for guidance, I will tell you to put down the vacuum and laundry detergent and take up the power tools and lawn mower. Leave the womanly domestic chores for your woman, and the manly handyman chores for yourself. Do this, and your sex life will improve. I promise. And it won’t matter if it improved because you fixed a correlational or a causal upstream factor of your marital woes. You will have realigned the sexual polarity, and even a hardcore feminist’s vagina can’t resist the allure of that naturally evolved gender construct.

I really love these sorts of shivtastic studies. It’s almost as if Science approached the doors of Chateau Heartiste, asked to be let in, peered and poked around, and solemnly announced, “This house is clean”.

And if you are a sexy man, it will have been your wife who cleaned it.

PS Two of the authors of the original study are surnamed Sweet and Bumpass. Sweet. Bumpass. Sweet Bumpass. Yes. Sweet Bumpass? Meet Purple Saguaro. Sweet Bumpass and Purple Saguaro? Meet Skittles Man. Sweet Bumpass, Purple Saguaro and Skittles Man? Meet the Rationalization Hamster. And on the eighth day, CH rested.

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CH, what is best in life?

To mock your enemies, see them driven to hysterics before you, and to hear the mooing of the fatties.

That is good!

You’re damn right that is good. This post will continue a proud tradition.


If someone told me, “Hey, did you know fat women married to in-shape men have worse marriages?”, I would reply “Who doesn’t know that? A man married to a fat sow will be unhappy, and if he has options he’ll start looking elsewhere. Common sense.”

Well, unfortunately for those who are inclined to give the masses the benefit of the doubt, the world isn’t filled with sane people who trust their lying eyes or who grasp rudimentary logic. The world, especially the Western world currently 5,000 feet from terminal velocity impact, is filled with delusional dregs, ego-assuaging equalists, fantasy world feminists, and puling porkers. Great fun if you’re a psyche-smashing sadist; not so much fun for normal people living in post-sanity secular societies who inevitably wind up footing the bills for these loudmouthed  losers.

Hot on the heels of, oh… ballpark estimate… one million previous CH posts about the penalties fat chicks suffer in the dating market and the personal health market (and now, the marriage durability market and happiness market), comes a new study which finds that fat wives of healthy-weight husbands have worse marriages.

Using dyadic models, we found that mixed-weight couples, specifically couples including overweight women and healthy weight men, reported greater conflict both generally and on a daily basis, compared to matched-weight couples; however, general conflict was reduced with greater perceived support from the partner. Mixed-weight couples who reported eating together more frequently also reported greater general conflict. These findings suggest that mixed-weight couples may experience more conflict than matched-weight couples, but perceived support from the partner can buffer this conflict. This research suggests that interpersonal dynamics associated with mixed-weight status might be important for romantic partners’ relational and personal health.

The researchers veer a bit into PC territory in their conclusion, so it will require a truly malevolent force to spell out the take-home lessons of this study in flashing neon lights that no one, not even hare-brained hogs, can possibly misinterpret.

Lesson Number One

Men are repulsed by the sight and feel (and smell) of fat chicks. All further lessons flow from this basic premise.

Lesson Number Two

A man with options to do so will choose a slender babe over a fat chick, EVERY TIME. (Rare exceptions prove the rule. Or: Don’t count on miracles, fatties.)

Lesson Number Three

A man married to a woman who has bloated into Hogzilla proportions will become increasingly unhappy, frustrated and resentful, and will express his displeasure with his fat wife in both passive and active ways.

Lesson Number Four

A fat wife is more harmful than is a fat husband to marital health and happiness. Fatness exacts a bigger toll on a woman’s sexual market value (and, therefore, marital market value) than it does on a man’s sexual and marital market value. Men are more visually oriented than women, and a fat man can compensate for his fatness by being attractive in other ways that women love. Fat women cannot compensate for their fatness except by losing weight and slimming down to a sexy, hourglass shape.

Lesson Number Five

Fat wives increase the odds of spousal adultery and marital dissolution. A wife who lets herself go on piles of cakes and cheesy poofs is primarily responsible for any infidelity her husband commits. Harsh, but true.

Lesson Number Six

A husband will be more likely to love, cherish and support his wife if she is thin. Life is conditional. Stop crying, and deal with it.

Lesson Number Seven

The cure for marital unhappiness and a lowering of the high risk of divorce among fat wife-healthy man couples is the fat wife losing weight until she has regained her attractive, slender, feminine shape. Marriage counselors will invariably bleat tired platitudes about “interpersonal dynamics”, “increasing perceived support”, and “unresolved masculinity issues”, and none of their solutions will work except to line their filthy pockets and turn wives against their husbands. They are worse than useless, because they lead women away from the one tried-and-true solution that *will* fix their marriages: losing weight.

Any questions? Or would you stubborn fatties and fatty apologists prefer the whistling lash upon your stuccoed hides a few more hundred thousand times?

I can already hear the trolls and transparently bad-faith skeptics.

“So fat women should marry fat men. Then all will be good!”

All will be good if you don’t mind living like the walking dead.

Mutually fat couples have no reason to rejoice. While thin husbands are more apt to distance themselves from fat wives, emotionally and sexually, fat husbands feel just as much frustration and resentment. Fat dudes are just as disgusted by fat chicks as are thin dudes. The difference is that fat husbands are less able to act out their frustrations without risking divorce rape and subsequent involuntary celibacy. A man who is forced by his lack of options to settle for a low quality woman will quickly acclimate himself to his dour circumstances, or suffer daily blows to his ego no man could withstand for long without the assistance of soothing psychological contrivances. The Acclimated Man (a subspecies of The Manipulated Man) will then become a simulacrum of the fox who cried sour grapes because he couldn’t grab the juicy fruit dangling just out of reach.

“I’m a thin woman reading CH for the rapturous tingles it inspires in my vaginal core, and all my (carefully screened) girl friends are thin, so how bad could this problem be?”

The Walking Fed

See here for an animated map going back to 1985. Gripping (gimping?) stuff.

“Fatness is genetic. Fat chicks can’t do anything about it.”

Bullshit on stilts. See above graph. There’s no way fat crappery can increase that much in a population of hundreds of millions in the span of 25 years by genetic selection alone. The best the “fat gene” crowd can argue is that most humans are wired to put on excess weight in an environment of plentiful sugar-rich, high glycemic index carb food and sedentary lifestyles. That isn’t the same as saying fat people have fat genes rendering them immune to efforts at long-term weight loss. What it means is that fatsos have to stop eating pastries and pasta, and start getting off their double wide asses and moving their limbs more than they do when reaching like an obese infant for a cookie on the kitchen countertop. The worst of them could begin their training by discarding the Walmart scooters for walking.

No fat gene hypothesis is needed to explain the growing army of lardbuckets and the shitty marriages they leave in their battle cruiser wakes. The answer is staring everyone in the face. The reason there are so many fat chicks in the world, and particularly in America, is because THEY CHOOSE THE PLEASURES OF FOOD AND IDLENESS OVER THE PLEASURES OF PLEASING MEN. That’s it, fatties. You choose… poorly. And you *will* pay the consequences. Forever. Or at least until you push away from the table.

“Thin, attractive wives sometimes suffer spousal infidelity and emotional coldness, too. So how can you say fat is the problem?”

This is the mirror image of the MGTOW false dichotomy fallacy (“If you hit on women, you are a beta because you have to put in effort to meet them.”) Feminists often employ this tactical fallacy when confronted by bleedingly obvious facts of human nature that remind them of their low status in the sexual value hierarchy. Just as MGTOWs, handicapped by their shut-in, stunted understanding of the innate differences between men and women, can’t fathom how a man can be both alpha and happy to approach and seduce women he desires, so too do feminists and their ilk betray a studied lack of comprehension about the effects that women’s degree of desirability has on men’s motivations.

A feminist sees a slender girl get cheated on by her asshole boyfriend, and the feminist’s stretch garment, Möbius strip mind promptly infers that being thin and sexy offers no more protection from infidelity than does being fat and gross. The feminist does not explore other, more likely, possibilities, such as the idea that hot babes are more likely to hook up with alpha males who have more temptations to suppress, or that the thin wife who suffered her husband’s infidelity probably would have suffered a lot more of his infidelities, and a lot earlier in the marriage, had she been overweight instead.

“But I read somewhere that fat people live longer than thin people?”

Not so fast. One dubious meta-analysis that contradicts literally thousands of individual studies showing the deleterious effects of fatness on health should not inspire confidence that being fat is A-Ok. However, let’s assume for the purposes of troll patronizing that overweight people really do “””live””” longer than thin people. Suffice to say, such extended longevity would come at a cost. There are the healthcare expenditures to treat all the illnesses that arise from being fat, of course. Then there’s the fact that most people would prefer a quality life as a thin person that ends, at last, rather peacefully in deep sleep, rather than a stricken life as a fatso waddling out an extra year or two on one diabetic foot and aching joints, wheezing and puffing and pants-pissing recklessly because any visible signs of graspable genitalia were lost long ago.

There is furthermore the obvious point that none of this feeble protesting about the supposed lack of health consequences of fatness has anything to do with the topic under discussion, which is that fat women repulse and drive away their husbands. Even if fat women are the healthiest people in the world and will all live to 110, that doesn’t change the fact that they are aesthetically repulsive to nearly all men. Thin people outcompete fat people in the dating market in the ways that matter because people, all kinds of people at all kinds of weights, prefer to gaze upon the lithe contours of slender bodies (for women) or V-shaped fit bodies (for men) rather than the undulating rolls of blubber on fat people. If fat craps don’t want to lose weight for their health, then they should lose weight for the better impression they’ll leave with others, and especially with those of the opposite sex whom they desire as romantic possibilities.

“Shaming fat women won’t work.”

Oh, really?

A leading health academic has called for fat people to be ‘shamed and beat upon socially’ in order to halt the obesity crisis.

In a controversial article, Daniel Callahan, the 82-year-old president emeritus of The Hastings Center a New York think-tank specializing in health policy ethics, calls for increased stigmatization of obese people to try spur weight-loss across America.

The senior research scholar says fat people should be treated like smokers who have become increasingly demonized in recent years and thus ‘nudged’ by negative attitudes of those around them into giving up the unhealthy habit. [...]

‘The obvious target would be the large number of people who are unaware that they are overweight,’ he writes in the paper printed in the center’s first periodical volume of the year.

‘They need, to use an old phrase, a shock of recognition. Only a carefully calibrated effort of public social pressure is likely to awaken them to the reality of their condition.

Get this hero a free copy of the forthcoming CH book!

Shaming works. If it worked on smokers and “””racists”””, it will work on fatties. Shaming isn’t the sole solution to the obesity epidemic, but it is a powerful weapon against the marching manatees. Shaming fat women to lose weight will bring increased happiness to the world, and that’s a utilitarian argument men can spring to life for!

The shaming stick coupled with the encouragement carrot is a potent combo. Be genuinely helpful and complimentary to women who are sincerely making efforts to lose weight. Remind her, in nuanced language as necessary, that a reward of feeling better about herself and having a more exciting (read: more pleasurably orgasmic) dating life await her on the other side where thin women take their desirability for granted. But the carrot should always follow the stick, like you might give a dog a treat only after it has done what you commanded of it. Too little shame, and the carrot becomes an excuse to avoid the hard choices, or to delude oneself that no improvement is needed.

Let’s end on a positive, uplifting note of encouragement: Shame on you, fatties! Shame! Shame! Look at yourselves. You’re all a bunch of triple decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwiches wrapped in a casing of subhuman sausage flesh. Blue whales sonically laugh at you. Your smegma hiding stomach folds have spawned a new species of armored crevice mice who nibble on your mouth droppings. Your pets eagerly await the feast that will accompany your untimely sofa-bound death. You are the reason a cottage industry of ass-wiping implements exists. The sight of your dumpy hind quarters can reduce a porn star’s viagra- and yohimbe-fueled hard-on to an inverted micropenis in less than a second. Whole villages of gnomes have been found ‘twixt your enormous buttocks. When you pinch a loaf, sewage treatment plants go code red. Your clitorii can fill hot dog buns. Your manboobs can spray milk from ten yards. You sicken me. You sicken everyone. Admit it, you even sicken yourselves. For shaaaaaaaaaaaame.

PS Since lower class women are fatter than upper class women, (smart ladies know what matters in the big picture), it behooves all men of taste who care about preserving pleasing female forms to engage in noblesse oblige, before the habits of the lessers percolate upward and become the habits of the betters, or what zee French call noblesse obese. There used to be a grand Iron Junk tradition where higher class men would scavenge lower class women for their pretty secretaries and nurses, because upper class women tend also to be battle-axes and egregious status whores. And the lower class women, for their part, loved that system. What cute, economically depressed girl wouldn’t relish an opportunity for love with a charming Gatsbian? But now, these men have nowhere to turn for tender female company; the lower classes have become untouchable, in the strictest sense of the word. So this is why the CH anti-fatass campaign is both pro-man *and* pro-woman… and pro-egalitarian! Making lower class women attractive again will help break down class divisions. Never let it be said the Oracles of the House of Heartiste aren’t generous of heart and willing to share their bounty with the rabble.

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Met online? Check.

Beta herbling? Check.

Chubby American woman on the wrong side of 30? Check.

Pretentious SWPL photo? Check.

Rode the cock carousel until age limit was reached? Check.

Two people settling for each other when options have run out? Check.

From this article, a treasure trove of dating tawdriness and romantic bleakness confirming many CH maxims.

I was 30 years old, just out of a long-term relationship and no longer interested in playing the field. It was time to settle down with the right man, get married and start a family. At the urging of several friends (and my worried mother), a strategy was settled upon: I joined Match.com and JDate, a website for Jewish singles.

What followed was a series of bad dates worthy of a romantic comedy: stupid sexual remarks, too much alcohol consumed (by them). A surprising number of men high-fived me, for reasons that remain unclear.

You can read the rest at the link, if you have the stomach for it. Warning: it’s bad. Here’s a taste:

I quickly realized that the popular women seemed to know something I didn’t; they were clearly attracting the sort of smart, attractive professionals who had been ignoring my profile. Being hypercompetitive, I wasn’t about to let some bubblegum-popping blonde steal the neurotic Jewish doctor of my mother’s dreams.

Here’s some advice, ladies, straight from the lords of the Chateau, and you don’t even have to reverse engineer online dating by making dummy JDate profiles and Excel spreadsheets to benefit from this advice:

1. Don’t get fat.

2. Don’t be ugly.

3. Don’t act like a man or a bitter feminist.

3. Don’t wait until you’re over 30, rode hard and tossed away wet, to start looking for a serious partner worthy of marrying.

See how simple that is? 1,2,3,4. Voila, love! But I suppose the simplicity is the problem for you girls. There’s no way to hamsterize the advice into something palatable to your egos.

PS As a bonus, here’s some CH advice for the men:

1. Don’t be a beta.

2. Don’t act like a woman or a manboob.

3. Learn game, bust a move and date the women you really desire before you’re forced to settle for the above.

Yours in Yahweh,


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You’ve got to have a strong stomach to make it through this edition of BOTM. This segment will hit a lot of buttons, as well it should. In a Slate “Dear Prudence” mailbag, a woman writes for advice from Prudie (Emily Yoffe) on how to break the news of her cheating whoreishness to her kids and neighbors.

Q. Where Do I Tell My Son His Sister Came From?: A few years ago I cheated on my husband, got pregnant, and decided to keep the child. Because my husband and I had a 2-year-old son together we decided that we could keep our marriage together for his sake. The thing that really complicates things is that my husband, son, and I are white, while my lover was black, and so my daughter is mixed race. Naturally my son has begun questioning why his sister looks so different from the rest of us, and my mother-in-law took it upon herself to tell him she was adopted. I’m at a loss for what to do. For now my husband has told MIL that the topic is verboten, but we haven’t decided if we should correct her error. Until now I’ve been happy to just let people assume what they want about where my children’s origins are, but now that a story is getting around, I’m not sure what to say or how to handle it.

We’re a long ways from Normal Rockwell’s America.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the husband surrendered to his wife’s crazy-eyed demands shrunk from risking the certainty of a divorce industrial complex ass-ramming politely discussed and agreed with his wife to keep the marriage going “for the sake of the children”.

Gotta love those children — the perfect leverage for whores and the state to use against wronged men.

Femcunt: “How can you POSSIBLY think of leaving your wife and hurting your children just because she had an unfortunate and fleeting five-year dalliance with an underprivileged but incredibly confident and masculine black man who also happens to be a doctor?”

Beta Herb: “But, I thought single moms are a light unto the world, and their children are successful in every way?”

Femcunt: “Oh, that’s rich. Using white male logic on me. Check your privilege, herbling!”

Beta Herb: “I’m so sorry. Please don’t yell at me. I’m a nice guy.”

Femcunt: “Nice guys are really jerks! You would know that if you weren’t such a jerk.”

Beta Herb: “Should I just off myself?”

Femcunt: “There’s an idea.”

Please, did you expect a feminist to comprehend dual mate strategy? Or to dabble in rationality?

Is this hubby a beta for staying with his wife when it’s so obvious to anyone with eyes that the mocha child in tow is living proof the whore wife cuckolded him in the arms of a five-point buck? Yes, he is. There’s simply no way a man can retain the heft of his balls — whatever he’s carrying — or any shred of honor, sticking by the side of an unfaithful wife who so ostentatiously gelded him, a mixed-race living reminder of his emasculation total yapping at his heels. There are just some indignities a man should not ever tolerate, especially when alternatives exist, such as beating a middle-of-the-night escape to another country to avoid punitive extractive alimony and child-support payments.

But the ideal course of action for the grievously insulted beta provider hubby presumes a somewhat sane world envelops him, and will consider his case fairly. Unfortunately, thanks to the relentless moronic march of feminists and equalist filth, and their lethal infection of the media/entertainment/academia/bureacracy complexes which constitute the juggernaut known as the Western Cathedral, we are far from living in a sane world. Instead of receiving recompense from his ex-wife for cuckolding him, and full custody of his one biological child, plus the sympathy and support of his community and the state, he would likely receive for his trouble of separating himself from the bitch who metaphorically shit in his face an extorted, back-breaking retirement plan paid in full to her, plus two days per month visitation rights. And prison rape for any failure to comply with his dispossession.

Given this morbid reality, how fitting is it for us to label such a man a hopeless beta? Isn’t he just as much a victim of his circumstance and the world which is cruelly indifferent to him as he is of his own weak character? I’m loathe to come down too hard on this guy, who probably decided it was better to minimize the fallout from a really shitty situation than to seek the justice that was rightfully his from the insult of his wife’s awesome betrayal.

However, in the final analysis, he earns his BOTM nomination. The reason why is found in the wife’s decision to keep the bastard. She would not have entertained keeping the mixed-race issue if she had a modicum of respect for her husband. Instead, it is likely he is a beta male in his heart whom she despised, and that made the decision easy for her. What use is appeasing a husband you hardly respect, let alone desire or admire? Why care for the soul-ripping consequences your detestable actions will have on a husband who no longer, if he ever did, inspires your adherence to a moral calculus via the encouragement of wonderful twat tingles? She wanted this kid born, wanted this gaudy tri-hued mockery of her marriage to shoot out of her festering womb, because it was the kid of another man. A better man.

The hubby chump doesn’t even have the luxury of hiding his shame behind ego sparing lies. A white kid could plausibly be passed off as his. But a pint-sized frappuccino is a glossy mag ad situating his disgrace front and center for the entertainment of the studio audience of his life.

And every day, every goddamned minute of every day, this pitiful lackey, chained by law and habit and feebleness to the golem of his wife’s black soul, will suffer his humiliation anew. There will be no escape from the breaking wheel that cracks the bones and tears the sinew of his self-worth. No refuge from the material proof of his wife’s love for another man. No competing nightmare visceral enough to block out the constantly birthing image of his wife’s cunt stretching and ululating for another man’s dick, and her womb happily germinating the prize of another man’s seed. A prize made all the more demeaning by the context of the times, where an abortion clinic to solve untidy problems like this one exist on every street corner, and condoms are handed out like candy. This woman made her choice WHEN SO MANY OTHER CHOICES WERE READILY AVAILABLE that would have partly bandaged the immortal wound she knifed into her husband’s pride.

His world is the world of slaves. A spiked heel kicking in his nuts, forever.

What can be salvaged from this woeful cataclysm? Oh yes, there is something.

A word about the children. Sometimes, the children must suffer to right a horrible wrong. To rectify an impossible evil. And the world must make it known who, in actuality, is the cause of their suffering. Every day, the children must know it was Mommy, not Daddy, who royally fucked their lives.

For shits and giggles, I’ll post Emily Yoffe’s reply:

A: Despite continuing weekly evidence to the contrary, I will continue to believe that the vast majority of men who think they are the biological fathers of their children really did provide the sperm. If you get impregnated by a lover of another race, what you say to your children about this is something that needed to be discussed openly with your husband, preferably before the baby was born. Making the utterly obvious verboten is not a good strategy for anyone. I think what you need for your immediate family is a dose of the truth. But, for your children, it needs to be age appropriate. Since your daughter was born a few years ago, your son is old enough to know the basics of reproduction. He needs to be told that his sister has the same mother, but a different biological father. However, what’s really important is that both he and his sister are being raised by the same daddy. You can tell him families are made all sorts of ways, and yours is just a little bit special. If your son—and eventually your daughter—want to know why this is the case, it’s fair to tell them that it’s a complicated story, and they will probably understand it more when they’re older. Say they can talk about this subject any time, but if they can wait, you and their dad can fill in more details as they grow up. For outsiders, you don’t need to explain anything. You can just say you are blessed with two beautiful children. And your husband needs to tell his mother to stop telling the kids something that’s simply wrong.

She evinces a glimmer of sympathy for the husband, but of course her advice, such as it is, amounts to the usual pro forma feminist crap: suck it up, herbische kopf, for the good of the children.

(The only person who comes out seeming halfway decent is the mother-in-law — the husband’s mother — who wants to protect her son from shame by passing off his daughter as an adoptee. Can you blame her for this honorable lie? She acted with good intentions, even if her solution is unworkable in the long run.)

My advice to him would be: get the hell out of Dodge. And don’t look back, and never let her get her paws on one red cent of your bounty or one precious second of your time. Find yourself a better woman in another country. My alternate advice, if American law weren’t so egregiously stacked against men’s interests, would be to march into court, DNA paternity test results in hand, and punish her with the same everlasting torment she has bestowed him. Grab custody of the one kid that is yours, and send the ex-wife and her love child packing for the icy wastelands, where aging single moms with complicated spawnage have about as much success in the dating market as obese, neckbearded furries. If she winds up killing herself, or her kid graduates to juvie as a glue sniffer, all the better.

Too much? No. Cuckoldry — knowing cuckoldry, at that — is the greatest betrayal. The most horrible metadeath. It is the gleeful sham of a scheming Satan. The cosmic shiv driven deep into the chewy center of the soul. The ur-lie. The King Of All Lies. The one lie to rule them all.

There is only one other lie that comes close to the terrible power of the cuckold’s deception, and that is the fraternal betrayal of a solider against his buddy in the trenches. But that awful betrayal, bad as it is, at least does not rub salt in the wound for eighteen excruciating years.

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We here at CH don’t just knock women off their princess pedestals (or knock men out from under them), we grind the pedestal into dust and toss the ashes into the Pacific breeze. But even our yeoman efforts occasionally struggle to adequately express the depraved depths of unrestricted female nature. Apropos, a reader writes:

Hi. I ran across your blog through a Google search. It looks very interesting and I am for sure going to read more later tonight after work. I was wondering if you had any advice for second wives that are married to nice guys that are paying alimony to an ex-wife that might have gotten secretly remarried to their elderly boyfriend? I’m sorry that sentence is so complicated.

Me: Wife #2

Me thinks: Wife #1 secretly remarried and is “double-dipping.”

Wife #1′s boyfriend: considerably older than her and has no heirs

She has tried to financially double-dip in the past, has a history of lying, there’s no nation-wide search we can run to check this out, and besides just having to pay back the money, there’s no downside like jail time or punitive fines for secretly remarrying and continuing to collect alimony from Husband #1.

Any suggestions would be super helpful!

Alimony double-dipping by ex-wives is real, and since it affects the resource pool of women hitched to the victimized ex-husbands, dumbshit man-haters can’t go around calling those men “whiners” without also incriminating their newly beloved women for the same illusory crime against status preening. Thus, we hear SILENCE TOTAL from the feminist kunt kollective on this matter of alimony double-dipping, which undoubtedly occurs with greater frequency than official tallies claim. Speaking of official tallies… where the hell are they? Is this mass buttfucking of betaboy cogs just one of those crimes that no one in power gives a rat’s ass about to even bother writing a report?

Double-dipping alimony whores are nearly the worst of the hypergamous worst. Second only to knowing cuckolders who try to foist alpha issue on unsuspecting beta providers. Think about the utter degradation, the abject humiliation, these craven harlots visit upon their ex-betas:

1. Coerces alimony payments from beta ex freed from any sex obligation in return.

2. Shacks up with new alpha lover and uses ex-beta’s coerced payments to buy sexy lingerie as demanded by alpha.

3. Refrains from reporting relationship. Gets to enjoy continued flow of resources from both new alpha lover and estranged beta ex.

4. Beta ex’s money now going to buy not only ex-wife’s pre-coituswear, but her alpha lover’s cock rings.

5. Cackles to herself how easy it is to keep kids away from schlubby beta ex.

6. Impoverishes beta ex and kneecaps his ability to find and keep a new woman to give him love.

What I just described above is the legal equivalent of getting a meth-addled ferret shoved up your ass, pulled out, and then shoved into your mouth to lick it clean. I believe the Latinate term is AF2MF, Ass-Ferret-to-Mouth-Ferret.

What man in his right mind would go to war for such a system?

Having never gotten myself entangled in the vulgarities of the divorce-industrial complex, all I can tell you, dear reader, is to find whatever shred of evidence that you can of your husband’s ex-wife’s remarriage and present it to a family court. This may mean coaxing your husband to wheedle any kids he may have to cough up the goods on their mother. Surprisingly, despite years of mommy poisoning the well, many children can see through her machinations and retain affection and loyalty to their father. But channels of communication will have to be open for this strategy to work.

In the meantime, you should do your best to ostracize any female or manboob acquaintances who parrot feminist lies in your presence. It’s a small act of rebellion, but big revolutions are seeded with the polite vengeances of individuals.

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A reader passes along this personal anecdote:

I wrote you about a year ago with a tale about a birthday dinner with a girlfriend where I showed up late, had no present, and subsequently violated her in wonderfully new ways that night as a result.  The main reason I wrote at the time was because I owe a great deal of how my life has changed, both at work and with women, to your blog.

Today I have another entertaining story that proves yet again how right your posts are.  I’ve been talking to a married woman for about a month now.  Her husband is well off, but about 15 years older and has made no effort to take care of himself.  He also has very little sex drive.  She does modeling and acting.  I’ve included a picture so you can make your own assessment of how attractive she is (please don’t post that if you do comment on the blog about this.  I’m really not looking to affect her career with this). [ed: she's sexy.]

I’ve been working her pretty hard the last month.  She gets approached by men EVERYWHERE.  She even has pro athletes trying to hook up with her.  So I  had to go a different route and ride that line of being somewhat supportive when she complained about her husband, but frequently make sure she knew I found her sexy as hell, and wanted to violate the hell out of her.  Halloween, that tension build-up all paid off.  We were both at a party at a bar, friends of hers all over, and after just one drink, she didn’t care who was watching.  We didn’t even make it to midnight before I was violating her in the parking garage.  The thing that was most striking to me after that, was how hard she was working to try to get some indication of commitment from me to assuage any doubts she had about what had happened.  She clearly wants out of her marriage, but that old hypergamy makes her want to know she can jump straight from one secure place to another.

The saddest thing is that her husband effectively all but told her to go fuck me.  She’s spent years trying to get him to go to the gym, go do things with her instead of sitting on his ass, and be affectionate to her.  He basically gave no alpha, and didn’t even give any supportive beta either.  As she’d describe her marriage, he honestly sounded more like your typical housewife (let himself go, believes she should just love him for who he is, etc.) than a man.

I wonder if this kind of thing happened with any regularity in Medieval Europe?

Women simply cannot be trusted to act virtuously. Their sexuality must be constrained to some degree by the operating patriarchy if civilization is to flourish. In times past, the threat of lethal cuckold revenge struck fear into the hearts of whorish wives and alpha male interlopers. Today, the State ensures the cuckold foots the bill for any bastard spawn the whore may have with her itinerant lovers.

How far we’ve fallen.

But I digress. The photo the reader included of the cheating wife was quite telling. Some girls just have the “eye of the trollop”; their intense, smoky glare broadcasts far and wide “I act before I think.” I’m not surprised a rich man married her; rich men tend to be both ignorant of female nature (they can’t be bothered to learn) and hooked on the thrill of possessing a dangerously sexy trophy wife. Rich men are under the mistaken assumption that their wealth is enough to keep a wife fulfilled and satisfied. We here who study the crimson arts know better. Perhaps they deserve the cuckolding they get.

The “love me for who I am” platitude has got to be one of the most self-destructive pretty lies a person can sincerely hold. If you believe that, and act in accordance with that belief, I can practically guarantee you will suffer in love. Even the most naturally natural alpha males who strut with conviction that they are Satan’s gift to the world know that women require certain emotional stimulations to respond sexually and to fall in love.

What can we learn from this reader’s story? Well, if you like the idea of fucking sexy, bored housewives in nightclub parking garages, you should be aware of the following:

1. Does she give off that wonderful whore vibe? Watch for the eyes and the walk. Women who love da cockas have a certain way of walking. And if she glances even for a split second at your package, she’s pre-lubed.

2. Has she been drinking? Really, it helps.

3. Does she complain about her husband or boyfriend within the first five minutes of meeting her? Now you may think this is a recipe for being her emotional tampon so she can bitch about the asshole she loves, but the benefit to you depends greatly on how you handle her whining. Too much concern, you’re beta toast. Too little, you give her no excuse to find salvation in your crotch. Also be cognizant of the style of her complaints; if she’s down to fuck around, she’ll sound more coldly dismissive of her husband or boyfriend rather than earnestly despairing.

4. Do her friends all seem like sluts? Slutty female friends are rarely cockblocks. Do you know why? Because sluts love it when their friends are sluts, too. It means no chance of being judged.

5. Is it Halloween? If it is, double your odds of closing the deal on the same night.

Whatever you do, never give your real name, address or phone number to a married woman. The last thing you need is a shotgun in your face when you open the front door.

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