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Inspired by the subversively realist Shoshana Roberts catcall video, a hundred “Ten Hours of [X] Walking in NYC” parody videos have sprung up like facial scruff on Amanda Marcotte. This is a good one:

“Judge me by my size, do you?” :lol:

Mockery is the best tonic for feminist idiocy. I can smell the feminist butthurt. *sniff sniff* I detect notes of hairy asscrack.

***

This video would’ve reached epic status if it ended with Chewbacca sidling up and roaring at her, and she gives him her number.

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I dare you to watch this all the way through without feeling at least a small gurgle of nausea.

Feminism For Bros (level 105) is a PSA by a group called “Centre for Gender Advocacy”, based in Montreal, associated with something called The Consensual Collective. I imagine corporate headquarters is a coffeehouse office where two manlets and a chubby cunt get together to project their confused sexuality and self-loathing onto normal people. The video shows a couple, (mostly the vaguely male hipster), asking for verbal consent at each step of foreplay. Unedited footage taken five years into the future shows him asking her if he may briefly appear naked in front of his now-wife while he dresses in the morning. She asks if she may shove her prized buttplug up his rectum. He assents.

“Can I kiss you?” “Can I put my hand here?” “Can I take your shirt off?”

Bzzt! Rebuffed! Her shirt stays on. They go back to loud kissing that sounds like an octopus pulling its tentacles off wet glass.

“Can I kiss your neck?” “Can I take off your shirt?”

This time he gets the green light. Not really sure what difference waiting ten seconds to approve his shirt-removal request made for the girl.

“Can I kiss you… there?”

He points to her sternum, that well-known erogenous zone on women.

“Can I go down on you?”

Of course, this faggot opts to mash his face in her pussy before banging her. OF COURSE. Pre-sex cunnilingus is 99% of times a huge beta male tell.

“CONSENT IS FUN”

No it’s not when it has to be verbalized every five seconds in a cloud of gnawing fear that a presumptuous ear nibble could lead to a rape accusation.

“CONSENT IS SEXY”

No it’s not, and telling yourself that won’t make it so.

“CONSENT IS SAFE”

Pretty sure gonorrhea is transmissible with or without consent. And there’s no way this manlet is overpowering the girl.

“CUTV”

So close.

I hope this video was a parody, because if not, then the people involved with this shit, or people who would seriously entertain its message, are down with the sickness that has no cure.

Coitus interruptus, meet passion interruptus. I can’t think of much that would kill the mood faster than asking for permission to escalate foreplay and slip the tip in. A barrage of mewling inquiries, however smokily whispered, makes whiskey dick seem like the pinnacle of bedroom prowess. Fatrelle whipping out his micropeen and flicking it to life with his porky pinky would be less likely to spoil the moment than a guy following BRO FEMINISM verbal consent guidelines.

Anyone who’s been with non-psychotic non-feminist girls (or, if you’re a woman, with men who aren’t afraid of their penes) knows how this works: The heat of the moment carries both of you forward through sexual escalation, wordlessly (unless you’re into actual dirty talk), clothes flying everywhere, hands exploring, mouths traveling great expanses of flesh, until panties are tugged off and sex ushers a symphony of moans. Consent is implied, usually, by the girl not saying “no” or pushing herself off the man.

This is what normal human beings whose brains weren’t hijacked by parasites do. As a female commenter at Total Frat Move put it:

As a girl, if a guy can’t take at least some control, it’s a turn off. If a girl doesn’t want sex then she will say so. If I want you, you’ll be able to tell. This was ridiculous.

Most feminist agitprop amounts to unattractive or psychologically defective women running from that scary and confusing female desire to submit to a dominating man, and grappling with those feelings that remind them of their vulnerable femaleness by neutering any man foolish enough to pursue them. A man who obeys feminist pique is a man who is never getting laid, and that’s the point. This stuff helps filter out weak betas who are too insecure to give women what they really want: A sexually entitled man who doesn’t second-guess his allure.

Males who are into this game are poseurs angling for broken snatch, genuine androgynous misfits play-acting revenge fantasies against the jocks who flipped their lunch trays, or sexually parched spergs who can’t read nonverbal arousal cues.

ps The reader who sent this clip wrote, “I love America, but I’m moving.” This sentiment must be shared by more men every day who watch this freak parade of putrescence shamble over the remnants of a once vital culture.

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A hilariously droll response to that Shoshana Roberts catcall-baiting (s)troll through the heterodusk community was recently uploaded to YouTube. It features an attractive white woman taking a 10-hour walk through predominately white Auckland and having her experience recorded by a companion operating a concealed GoPro camera.

Nothing much happens besides a few head turns by men as she walks past them. I suppose a deranged feminist would use that as evidence of eye harassment. Dem man eyes boring holes through women’s souls… eye rape!

The first interesting reaction starts at 0:25, when she struts past a construction site. Two brown men stare at her for a while, but say nothing. It’s hard to tell if they’re very tanned white men, or nonwhite laborers; nevertheless, the scene is reminiscent of the CH observation that the colorful excesses of “diversity”, whether of the race or class variety, tend to be kept in check if subsumed into a larger culture firmly in control by a self-assured and demographically dominant white majority. Some would call this an example of a people “owning a space”.

At 0:37, she receives a very aggressive eye rape from a mustachioed man who, it should be noted, looks conspicuously nonwhite.

The dramatic climax starts at 0:44. A white man notices her as he walks in the opposite direction, does a turnabout, and skips ahead to her side to drop some indirect day game on her. He stops her and asks if she’s Italian. Is this guy a Yad or Krauser acolyte? No mention is made in the video if he got her number. Her GoPro companion keeps walking, possibly to give her some privacy to exchange numbers with the bold pickup artist.

Which leads to another point: Catcalling is anti-game on white women. You will actually lower your chances more by sloppily catcalling a pretty white girl than you would by doing nothing except posing and hoping she digs your contrapposto. White men either intuitively know this and therefore deliberately refrain from the practice, or white men are constitutionally averse to picking up women like a carnival barker. Catcalling is one of those male mating dances that appears to be mostly race-specific; that is, blacks and pedros love it, and their women might very well enjoy it and even occasionally reward it. These guys will also catcall white women, but mostly because they don’t understand that white women don’t vibe with that style of primitive machismo.

Catcalling is also qualitatively different from game-savvy street pickup, the latter which is honed and practiced by, mostly, white men. Hooting at a girl to “show some love”, or “smile more”, or following on her heels for blocks without saying a word except a mewling “Am I too ugly for you”, is not game. Walking up to her side, stopping her, asking some nonsexual question with plausibly innocent intent, and swiftly moving the topic of conversation into more fertile ground leading to a number or kiss close is game that works, and importantly it’s game that works on the world’s most desirable women: Slender white women. (The qualifier is, tragically, more necessary than ever.)

Other than the white PUA flashing some game, and a flabby beta foreigner asking her for directions, she manages to walk the entire city unmolested by white men with active sex drives.

Lesson of the tape: White men don’t catcall. If you are a woman who secretly wants catcalls to feel attractive to men, and you don’t care about catcaller quality or courtship skill level, your best bet is to have a steatopygic ass stuffed into fuck-me jeans and a parade route through Harlem during work hours.

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A viral load of white female privilege dropped in the patriarchy’s lap this week. It’s a video produced by a racist white puppeteer featuring a racist white woman, Shoshana Roberts, (OK, maybe she’s a “convenience white” woman), walking through some vibrant and culturally nonconforming New York City neighborhoods for ten hours recording the reactions of the underprivileged men around her.

Wow. Just…. wow. I can’t even…. I can’t watch any more of this video. I feel physically ill from the othering. FCKH8!

The racist subtext is obvious. Some cisgendered white woman with a rap sheet of unchecked privilege and internalized racism claims to speak for all goddesshood, and trawls through Harlem like she’s on some safari, baiting the heterodusky into othersexual, courtship-positive mating displays. What does she expect, imposing herself on their colorful and enriching gape culture, blaming the victims for her socially constructed alabastercentrism? This is nothing less than minority shaming. And with her mile-wide ass she should know better.

There’s clearly a superstructure of anti-indigeneity in her feminist pose. Colonialist oppression is not far from her dismissive gestures. This woman wants to fight against Hollaback discourse, but all she really is doing is promoting Collablack sexual politics. She wants to collar all the blacks and Ricans who don’t accept her barely caucasian hegemony to decide rules of intergender solicitation.

Well I ain’t no collablack girl, and to this racist white woman pretending to be a real feminist I say, “Don’t impose your values on under-served, differently amorous communities. Not every catcall needs your affirmative consent if it doesn’t come from a rich, white man with good manners.”

Or maybe Shoshana Roberts and her racist white moneygrubbing masters would like to explain the reactions of her white sisters to this man? Should he just accept their creepy, threatening harassment, or should there be laws against this kind of female objectification of the male body (part)?

ps hi jezebel!

pps videotaped reactions (or indifference, as the case may be) from men on Wall Street and the Upper East Side were, for some odd reason, left on the cutting room floor. rumor has it shoshana made out with a few men who glanced her way.

ppps heh.

UPDATES

- As reader CAPSLOCK HUSTLA suggested, the anger of white women toward catcalling stems mostly from the fact that a lot of catcallers are low value men who think the girl is on their level. No woman, especially not a striver 6 like Shoshana, likes the feeling that losers think they have a chance with her. It makes her second-guess the power of her looks to intimidate lesser men (or attract better men).

- It’s no coincidence that most anti-catcalling feminist indignation comes from white chicks. Although META ANALYSIS and PEER REVIEWED STUDIES have yet to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, I suspect that non-white women, as equal inheritors of their race’s genes, respond more positively to catcalling men and also know how to handle those men (e.g., by refraining from showing vulnerability that could be misconstrued as sexual interest).

- I noticed over at the comments at iSteve that there still exist ignoramuses who think crude low class catcalling of the sort filmed in the video is the “game” taught by aristocads like yours truly. They’re ignoramuses, or they’re disingenuous liars. Yelling streetways at a woman to “smile more” and asking her post-rebuff “Am I too ugly for you?” is pretty much the opposite of game.

- Diversity + Proximity = A gauntlet of crass, 24/7 catcalling. White women will get misty-eyed for those long-ago days when a white man would walk up and say hi.

- Catcalling, if you couldn’t already tell, is mostly a non-asian minority thing. Only Mediterranean whites like Italians come close to expressing the… unsolicited robust amour… of blacks and guapos. And even then, the Italians in America catcall with a stylishness far removed from the ghetto version. It’s so rare for white men that I can’t honestly remember the last time I saw one catcall like those loping suitors in the video. And I’ve lived in a number of vibrant communities. I could set up a GoPro with Minka Kelly in Peoria, IL and go ten years without a single catcall caught on tape.

- I’m not completely without sympathy for women having to put up on the daily with nonstop catcalling that borders on creepy. The closest analogy for a man would be having to tolerate homeless bums begging for handouts every block. That would get annoying after a while. Of course, the answer is to avoid walking in areas where bums congregate. Or to have a grand ol time telling them NOPE with a sadistic grin.

- It’s as natural for vibrants to catcall as it is for white women to dislike it. The solution is to minimize the amount of proximate diversity. Hello, is anyone listening…?

- Shoshana, like her kin Lena Dunham, is a Ditz Class attention whore. She hates catcallers but loves reminding the world of her DD tits. Hypocritical attention whores like these two broads are a blight on civilization. The internet has certainly enabled their craft, but larger societal paradigm shifts away from patriarchal oppression and toward total female sexual freedom are to blame.

- Allegedly, Shoshana FatAssa is dating a bankster. I wonder how her street stooges feel about being set up by an entitled bitch?

- Here’s a funny, if less than biting, parody video. “Pumpkin spice season son!”

- Although they may feel threatened or uncomfortable in the moment, deep down most white (and white-ish) women are turned on a little by the feral male attention. It’s that dualistic female arousal mechanism at work again.

- Ultimately, the problem with stupid, bitter feminists and their lackeys is their inability to understand, let alone empathize, with how differently from women that men are aroused to desire. Once you have convinced yourself that there are no real biological or sociosexual differences between men and women, it’s a small step from there to bemoaning catcalling while your tits are thrust three feet in front of you. This is what a religious adherence to feminist lies gets you: Fear and loathing of men because they get turned on by visual stimulus with an intensity that is alien to your gynocentric worldview.

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Reader PA linked to an old video featuring four famous French singers embodying four distinctive styles of womanhood. All four are fantasizing about hitting on the same man who’s leaning against the bar. PA comments,

This is a delight in its own right. It’s also a Game tool: ask a girl which style, of the four shown here, is hers.

(Stay tuned for 3:34. Assuming it’s not electronically altered, dude has the deepest frog voice I’ve ever heard.)

The video is fun, and yes it does contain material that would serve very well reconstituted as a game routine. Which is what I’ve done.

Naturally, in most situations you’re not going to pull up a Youtube video for a girl you just met so you can ask her with which femme fatale she most identifies, (although there’s nothing wrong with doing that if you can manage it).

Do you remember the archetypical femmes fatales? The classics? The Chateau archives have posts about them and their particular gaming needs.

The golddigger.
The waif/neurotic.
The eternal ingenue.
The Amazonian alpha.

Asking a woman which female archetype she thinks she is will light up her eyes and deepen her conversational commitment. (Most girls like to think of themselves as ingenues. Be wary of the girl who proudly proclaims herself an amazonian alpha. Also be ready to bounce her home for the NSA bang.)

In the video, the singers represent, respectively (and commenters are free to argue with my categorizations):

Singer #1: The shy girl-next-door with a secret raging passion.
Singer #2: The fun-loving free spirit with a naughty side.
Singer #3: The elegant romantic who can throw a dinner party as well as she can flirt.
Singer #4: The take-charge seductress who might walk out with your wallet in the morning.

(Timeout to note how crazy beautiful and feminine Frenchwomen can be. I’d even consider monogamy with that first singer, and it takes a lot to inspire me to that sacrifice. Tragically, the times, and our women, have changed.)

If the girl you’re hitting on can watch this video with you, simply asking her which type she relates to will get the comfort stage ball rolling. Without the video, you’ll have to keep the above four (or eight) femmes fatales stored in memory for retrieval as part of the Femme Fatale Game Routine.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Women love to put men in boxes — you know, the frat bro, the nerd, the momma’s boy, the player — but there are types of women too. Femmes fatales. And men can tell a lot about a woman by her type. [pause for her curiosity to get the best of her. look away during this moment, so you don't leave the impression that you're anxiously anticipating her reply.]

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Really! So what type am I?

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: That depends. You see a man you like. You want to grab his attention. Do you look at him, then look away, blushing? Or do you bounce up to him and act flirty?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Act flirty.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: So you see yourself more as the free spirit than the shy girl-next-door. Ok, now if the choice is between being a free spirit, or sidling up in a sleek cocktail dress and remarking on his sense of style or whatever, which do you choose?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Ooh, I like cocktail dresses. I’d do that.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Ok, so you’re more of an elegant romantic than a free spirit. Now you have to choose between being an elegant romantic, or wearing a sexy dress with a plunging neckline and whispering racy innuendo in his ear. The take-charge seductress.

LITTLE BO QUEEF: That’s too much for me. I’ll stick with being the sophisticated romantic in a cocktail dress.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Typical American woman. Great! Now I know what type you are. Ready?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Yes!

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: The elegant romantic is passionate, but not crass. She’s no prude, she just likes a long build-up before going for the kill. She thinks herself sophisticated [ed: note that this is a challenge], and tries to dress stylishly [ed: another challenge]. She’s emotionally mature and has that natural sexiness which makes other women jealous, but not so jealous that they feel threatened. Men feel good about introducing you to business associates.

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Yay!

If words aren’t your thing, you can run an abbreviated version of the Femme Fatale Routine.

DEVIL’S REARGUARD: Shy girl-next-door, or naughty free spirit?

LITTLE HO’S SHEAF: Both!

DEVIL’S REARGUARD: That’ll do.

***

PS I understand that the “style” PA refers to may be the man’s style, but I think the routine works better as a pickup tool if you ask the girl about female-specific styles.

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Stanley Kubrick On Game

Hat tip: Sunny Bunny.

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It’s time to do the same with obesity.

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