In the id-carving business, this is what’s known as a future vision shiv. Oracular serration.
In the id-carving business, this is what’s known as a future vision shiv. Oracular serration.
Can we spare a moment for some brisk Realtalk that’s liable to send a certain contingent reaching for their smelling salts? Facials are hot. The giving of them, if you’re a man (or a man not named John Scalzi). The receiving of them, if you’re a woman (or a man named John Scalzi).
Check that, if you’re a certain kind of woman.
Depraved though facials may be, there’s no denying the act’s electrifying sexual charge. A facial is the Pollock splattered symbol of incontestable ownership by the man of his woman. It isn’t the Christian thing to do, but damn me if the devil’s bedroom blueprint isn’t a schematic leading straight to the jizz-soaked id.
The catch-22 is that the woman who will eagerly welcome into her face and upturned eyes the beatific brandishing of your white hot boner brew is not the woman you’d trust to leave alone for more than a week without a champion series labia lock set to impregnable.
It is the reality of woman: she who most excites your manly humors is she who least assures your manly honor.
My advice: If you love a woman, and you love the idea of giving her a facial, try it out. If she allows it, but only after expressing an initial and thereafter rolling reluctance, (i.e., she puts up some resistance and isn’t parting at the lips to try it again), she’s your long time gal instead of your good time gal.
One (hot) girl telling another (less hot) girl about her disappointment in a man she’s dating.
“He won’t do anal. Not like I asked or anything, but he kind of made a face and backed off when it started going there. He’s not adventurous with sex. Not at all. Like, so plain vanilla. White bread. *laugh* Do I want this? Am I crazy for wanting more? He’s got a big money job. But so what, that’s not gonna get me off.”
The best thing about overhearing this conversation was the other girl listening patiently. Her facial expression never changed from neutral. Not even a twitch. She sat and nodded her head solemnly, as if she was listening to a lecture on geopolitical trends.
Tradcons and feminists have more in common than either would care to confront. Browsing popular alt-right outposts, I’ve found that a significant number of them — not all; I don’t mean this to be a sweeping indictment of the tradcon right — share with feminists a misunderstanding of sex differences and of the functioning of the sexual market (hint: it’s transactional in nature, and sneering at the messenger won’t change that fact).
So what false notions do tradcons and feminists share?
That’s one. Feminists and (some) tradcons reflexively defer to the contradictory premises that female entitlement both a. doesn’t exist and b. must be catered to at all times.
Tradcons, like feminists, wrongly assume men and women share reproductive goals, or that the triggers and the expression of their desires are similar. They are not.
Tradcons, like feminists, express a wanton cruelty toward male sexuality, never missing a chance to pathologize it. Where it really shows is in their hate for sex differences in attraction and arousal, which they dismiss by denying the biocentrality of visual stimulus and mate variety to male sexuality. Or, if they don’t deny those things, they demonstrate their contempt of male sexuality by deriding its emotional and sensate power over men, and belittling men who “can’t control” their natural urges.
Female hypergamy is real, (and different in kind from male mate choice motivations). Maybe tradcons are upset by the science-y terminology. That’s another deficiency they share with feminists. If it helps them get over their anxiety about being mistaken for an autistic, they could call it “dating up”.
No one in the “Sex Pill” community argues that male sexuality can’t be depraved. Gang bangs, facials, and homosex come to mind. But tradcons, like feminists, have a peculiar habit of denying the facets of female sexuality that tend toward depravity and darkness. For instance, female rape victims often go on to have consensual sex relationships with their rapists. And, oh yeah, there are all those coercive rape fantasies women indulge.
Similarly, tradcons (maybe not so much as feminists) tend to overestimate women’s inclination toward faithful monogamy. Studies consistently show women are less monogamous than tradcons assume and more monogamous than men as a sex.
Tradcons, like feminists, have a hysterical hatred of men trying to improve their romantic fortunes. They slander normal male desire for a quality dating life as entitlement, when it’s nothing of the sort. (Entitlement is the feeling one is owed something for nothing; most men who want to get better girls know that they have to put in the effort commensurate with the quality of girl they’re aiming for.)
The entitlement slur is one of the more toxic tradcon smears against men. The tradcon mercilessly mocks the man who strives for a cuter girlfriend, but lavishes praise on the woman who screens for Mr. Right. Self-discrediting.
Tradcons, like feminists, want to believe that women sacrifice as much as, or more than, men do when deciding to marry. Not true. Men must tacitly renounce the heart of their natural, God-given sexuality to marry; women don’t. Women have a greater disposition for monogamy than do men, and a weaker urge for sexual variety and profligacy. Marriage is therefore an easier transition for women to make than it is for men to make. This sex discrepancy in monogamous marriage sacrifice demands an array of legal and informal cultural recompense for married men. (This recompense can take form in big and small ways; e.g., “king of the castle” privileges, wife taking his name, etc.)
Btw, Tolkien and CH are on the same page about men and their greater marriage sacrifice:
Tradcons, like feminists, abhor sex-based “double standards”, refusing to accept that double standards are a fact of life when the species in question is sexually reproducing. Tradcons love to lump male and female cheating under one umbrella of equal awfulness, but the comparison deserves more nuance than that. One, female cheating can result in pregnancy (especially true before the Pill and latex condom, which was the environment humanity evolved in for most of its history). A cheating wife impregnated by her dalliance was a serious cuckold risk to her husband. The same cannot be said of a cheating husband.
Two, when women cheat, they tend to hypergamously cheat, (they turn the sex spigot off to their husbands). Men cheat in the harem-building style, mostly for physical pleasure (as opposed to the yearning for romance typical of cheating wives), and often retain love for their wives even during the times of their extramarital trysts.
My evidence for tradcon resemblance to dumbfuck feminists comes from reading what a lot of them who are normally straight thinkers on a number of hot button topics have to say about sex, love and women. I don’t attack all tradcons, but I do note there are quite a few of them who are as dumb about sex as shitlibs are about race.
(This is a good point to remind tradcons that one can be both clear-eyed about innate sex differences in desire AND about the importance of monogamy/marriage to Western Civ.)
The reflexive tradcon white knighting for the female sex finds its source in the same place all people tap when considering the lamentations of the women. It all gets back to the Fundamental Premise. Women are the reproductively more valuable sex (by order of the cosmic overlord), and this eternal truth explains innumerable societal phenomena related to the instinctive urge by both men and women to favor women’s concerns at the expense of men’s concerns.
It’s been claimed that the Sex Pill is the gateway drug to the Race Pill. But I’ve noticed a lot of race realists have trouble with sex realism. Is it a problem of demographic bias? Maybe race realists are older (less naive about race) and settled down. They’ve been out of the seduction game for a while and have forgotten what climbing-the-walls horniness feels like, or how much tougher it is to seduce younger, hotter, tighter chicks than older, hoarier, looser women?
The referring reader writes,
This story reminds me of the video of the black guy who was confronted by a fat feminist at a gaming tournament. He ignored her and looked for the responsible man by asking “Who bitch this is?”
In this video some guy stands by while his she-whale of a girl friend gets in the face of some guy. The guy beats the crap out of the boyfriend.
Control your women CH readers.
It’s an ugly video (in all ways), so prepare yourselves. A sheboon shoggoth starts the fight, and an all-too-typical Black Lives Shatter scene of chaos erupts. The large city worker answers the woman’s taunts by pummeling her weak husband into submission.
An infuriated straphanger restrained himself when a foul-mouthed woman showered him with obscenities and saliva aboard a subway train in the Bronx. Clearly reluctant to strike the woman, he took it out on her spouse.
“I won’t hit a b—h,” the enraged straphanger shouted as he stood with both fists raised in a boxing stance. “But I will f–k your (man) up.”
Black White Knighting? I don’t think it qualifies. He’s not coming to the pigwoman’s defense. He’s acknowledging (in his high-browed way) that his strength could seriously smash a woman – even one as fat as this charming specimen – to death. And so he has deemed it necessary to attack her via proxy, (sort of like how Muslim tribes get revenge by attacking family members of foes — Muslims, like this black man, understand that enemies don’t act in a vacuum; they are supported and enabled by a network of relations).
Another angry passenger asks the woman to get off the train as they idle on the tracks.
“Someone’s gonna have to give me my $2.75,” the passenger finally snaps, referring to the cost of a single ride on the train.
As the situation escalated, the woman’s husband tried helplessly to calm the situation.
“Yo, chill, man,” he said as no one paid any attention.
Black beta male. They exist. A man’s woman is so very revealing of his character. Take up with a disgusting blob of crass stupidity and people will assume you’re a beta loser. And most of the time, they’ll be right.
On balance, I think it’s an idea whose time has come for the weak, supplicating beta male partners of repulsive anti-social women to be held partly responsible for their women’s shit behavior. Maybe if these betas paid a price for their unmanly submission to gross, stampeding wildebeests we’d begin to see fewer of these self-entitled women despoiling the public space.
How many women will posture like enraged gorillas when they don’t have the security blanket, however tattered, of a beta boyfriend lurking alongside? I bet not too many.
Who bitch this is? No one’s? Ok, then. *SLAM THE CLAM*
Recently, I had box seats to a brief lovers’ spat on the sidewalk. The couple starring in the show crossed my path perpendicularly. It was a telling scene, flush with unspoken truths about the differences between men and women. She’s following him, begging for his attention. The girl has that frantic look like her baby is floating down the river in a basket and she’s chasing after it.
All the while (not a long while, maybe twenty seconds total), he’s striding purposefully ahead of her, oblivious, or affecting an air thereof, to her fevered pleadings. He stands tall, a confident posture and a neutral facial expression leading his way. He looks kind of like a dick.
I couldn’t make out what the drama was about, but it didn’t matter. There was a larger message in this theatrical release. I thought:
“This is the direction love should go. It’s natural. Woman to man. Woman gives love, man receives love. (Man gives desire, woman receives desire.) No matter what happens next, this woman desperately chasing down her man will eventually fall into his post-coital arms, the both of them happy with their respective statuses in the relationship.”
I tried to imagine by way of thought experiment how my perception of the scene would have changed if the roles had been swapped. If instead he had been pleading with his girlfriend to slow down, and she kept walking ahead of him. I twitched at the thought with instinctive revulsion. There was only one-way love in that reverse scenario, him to her. Submissive Male to Dominant Female. A guarantee of relationship extinction.
No one loves a needy man, not even himself.
How will you know your relationship is on solid ground? If she’s running after you, red-faced and trembling with love and yearning and desperation and desire and, yes, fear. The sexual polarity is aligned. The love amplified.
If you’re running after her, afraid to lose her love? You already have.
A good, if abstractedly imperfect, test of a woman’s love for you is to ask if she would she die for you. You can ask yourself this question, and if you’re honest you’ll know the answer.
Would she die for you?
Because most women wouldn’t.
I watched TED talks today and a woman there defined love as you would give your life for that person. I would die for my son without question..but for my husband probably not. I do love him, but I wouldn’t die for him..would I die for my husband when we first started dating when I was CRAZY in love with him? Nah..
You’ll know you own your woman if she’s so in love she’d at least claim in online scribblings that she’d die for you.
Recall that Pajamaboy won the 2015 Most Punchable Shitlib Face tournament. In the comments, a reader warned that these punchable shitlibs have voices that are as insufferably effete as their plush pool boy mugs.
Just wait until you hear them speak;
Pajama Boy aka Ethan Krupp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuRb4YJvvmM
It’s like the faggot accent has become a standardized dialect throughout America.
Call it the “fagcent”. As in, “Did you hear that effeminate shitlib bitch about pico-aggressions? What a fagcent!”
It’s hard to encapsulate the fagcent in one word; it’s really a constellation of horribly enfeebled verbal tics. It’s sing-songy, lilting, often high-pitched (but not always), and appropriates female inflections like vocal fry and uptalk. The overall impression is of a snarky, sneering little manboy trying to sound like a passive-aggressive woman in drag.
The 1880s were the Gilded Age. The 2010s are the Gelded Age. Request to replace the stars and stripes with buttplugs and dildos.