Sometimes I don’t need to wield the shiv. The shiv wields itself.

“A deep tone of voice appeals to conservative voters. More generally, conservative voters seem to have a preference for politicians who look physically strong and masculine, while liberal voters prefer those who have less dominant features and seem more accommodating, perhaps even slightly feminine,” said Laustsen.

Since universal suffrage was passed into law, women voters have pushed America toward the extreme far Left. Now we have a biological underpinning that helps explain why. The liberal, social safety net, open borders preferences of women align with the political preferences of effeminate men (like John Scalzi, Alex Pareene, and Ezra Klein). The effeminate men never had much of a political voice until they were able to hitch the behemoth female voting bloc to their cause. And now we have gay marriage, mudsharking on prime time TV, and slut walks featuring half-naked fat chicks.

Laustsen and Petersen’s research proceeds from the observations that in order to understand the behavior of modern humans, you need to look into the evolutionary history that has shaped the psychology producing this behavior. In prehistoric times when the ancestors of modern humans were roaming the East-African savannah in small groups, it made sense to support the strongest members of the tribe when confronted with danger. Psychological mechanisms which 30,000 years ago saved our ancestors from being devoured by saber-toothed tigers and other fierce animals continue to be at work today, explaining, among other things, why people vote as they do along the left-right continuum.

“There are evolutionarily important reasons for the structure of our psychology. Our ancestors had to make a decision about which leader to follow, and it was crucial for their survival and reproduction that they picked the right one. As a species we are pre-programmed to think in a certain way about who we would like to be in charge. This affects choices that we make even today,” said Petersen.

Antibiotics and two oceans have enabled the rise of the American Leftoid.

Is this knowledge useful for the politicians? For example, would it be helpful for conservative politicians to tone down their dominant, masculine personality traits in hopes of snatching voters further to the left who tend to find less dominant features more attractive?

“Democrats are often seen as empathic, compassionate types. Republicans, by contrast, are often considered as strong leaders with a moral compass. This kind of subjective views may have real importance in cases where a Republican candidate is seen as more empathic than his Democratic opponent and trespasses into his territory. Perhaps he can gain some votes there,” he said.

If Trump can successfully merge themes of closed borders, White dispossession, and oligarch wage gutting, while connecting with the White working class Democrats and Independents, he will walk into the White (again) House.

In related news, effete, rich liberal Democrats are the only group that wants hordes of Muslims streaming across the nation’s borders, and eventually across their rectal borders.

“I’m a drug trafficker” Game

Reader Fernando P recounts a funny story about a game tactic he tried on a girl.

I think I read in here a response to the famous female question “so what do you do for a living” being “I’m a drug dealer”. I tried it.

I quit my job, finally made up my mind regarding what I want in life. Decided I’d come visit my brother in Ukraine. I’ve been here for three months.

I’ve been seeing two girls, 20-21, I’m 25. I’m coming back to my country in a week, so I decided I’d do a little experiment.

In the middle of our deep conversations I told them I had something to tell them. That I had not been honest with them, etc. “What, Fernando, what?”.

“I’m a drug trafficker”

Given my nationality, looks and thanks to my brother’s apartment and car, they bought it. They were in shock. When things calmed down and after my surveying, one of them told me “you’re crazy, but perhaps I’m crazy too, I want you” or the likes.

Female rationalization hamster spotted in the wild.

The other said nothing but when I told her she could leave, I wasn’t going after her, she said no, she stayed too.

Aloof Alpha Attitude spotted in the wild.

It’s crazy, really crazy what girls will do if they like a man. Fear the day when your daughter meets a real drug trafficker with tight game.

Sadly I have to go back, but I’ll come back and marry one of these porcelain skin beautiful daughters of bitches.

A major psychological obstacle that hinders beta males from achieving more success in the dating market is their quasi-religious conviction that girls must be wooed by the ostentatious burnishing of one’s career credentials or they will run to the next man with a better job history. The typical beta male can’t comprehend how a ZFG, cavalier confession that one is a drug trafficker could in any way light a fire in women’s loins, let alone not send them running for the exits.

This explains why it’s a more civilized culture in which fathers regulate their daughters’ dating options. (Cf., moving to a nice White suburb in order to influence the quality of her social peers.)

Warren Beatty Game

Warren Beatty may be a flaming shitlib, but he’s got Game psy ops chops (which usually develops in men, no matter their political leaning, who have gained a wealth of experience with women). Via Vernon:

Saw this in the New York Post’s review of Carly Simon’s book. It mentioned how Warren Beatty hit on her. I wonder if he was able to keep a straight face while doing it:


Beatty kept a list “he referred to as ‘the main loves of his life.’

“It worked and it shouldn’t have. It was irresistible,” she says of Beatty’s process.

“Warren’s list was there on a piece of white paper in his pocket so he could take it out and show you. When he showed me, he added my name, to make me current (the main one at the top) so I could see that I was right up there above women like Catherine the Great, Marie Curie, Maria Tallchief and Lillian Hellman.”

Beatty’s charming ruse demonstrates two Game principles in action:

  • Qualification

Qualifying women flips the courtship script. Instead of the man trying hard to impress the women, he speaks and acts in ways that imply the woman needs to step up her game and impress him. He qualifies his soon-to-be conquests. If you don’t have Beatty’s preselected fame, you could tune his “main loves of life” list to better serve your intent to DHV by, for example, putting your date’s name four or five slots down in the list, and telling her that if she works at it she might move up a position.

  • Challenge

Women love to be challenged by men to prove their romantic worth. One reason women love a challenge is because so few men are up to the task, and the one who does reach for the lass ring instantly elevates his mate value stature. Another reason is because a man who challenges a woman intimates, through the tacit status display that he doesn’t fear pushing any one woman too far and alienating her, that he has an abundance of sexual market options mentality, and chicks dig a man who is dug by lots of other chicks.

Consider this post a Mission: Possible. Scratch out a cutesy “main loves of my life” list and whip it out when the moment is right. Ask the girl where she thinks she belongs on your list. Place her two slots lower than the ranking she chose. Tell her with a little effort, she’ll get there someday. Prepare to get swept up in a tingle torrent.

Deluded Fat Chick Of The Month

There’s no better way to start your week than getting down into the slop with squealing pigs, but in the porcine annals of oinkery this magnificent squeal must rank as one of the most try-hard, butthurt boar bleats ever to disgrace a social media trough. The title alone could convince the judges to give her straight 10s for porkingsthatneverhappened.txt.

I’m Fat And I Have Sex With Hot Strangers

Mic drop. Or should I say, meatloaf drop.

I could just post her photo and stop there, nothing else needing to be said.

If bed frames could cry.

This human-pig hybrid’s shrieking id is a sight to behold. She must have the fattest rationalization hamster in the known universe. (Obligingly, CH crowns her the Hamster of the Month winner.)

First, she tries to lull the reader into complacent acceptance of her wild claims to come by throwing out a morsel, or twenty, of preemptive candor.

I am fat — not curvy, fat. I have a fat stomach and I jiggle when I walk.

“jiggle” = flesh tsunami. Now I’m not saying she’s fat, but when she wades into the ocean Indonesians head for high ground.

Society tells me that this is a radical notion.

Did we sleep in class during all those years of stentorian Chateau inculcation? Society tells you nothing, moocow. It’s the God of Biomechanics who deems your lard disgusting to the vast majority of people. Even to fellow fatties!

It’s not. There are more girls like me out there. We just aren’t given space to be visible.

How much space do you need? The Great Plains?

I feel like I was put on this earth to be colorful and take up space

So were landfills.

and I am not ashamed.

Keep telling yourself.. and everyone else.. that.

We are told by the media that we need to live in shame, stop eating seventeen cheeseburgers,

That’s an oddly precise number.

We are told to wear something “more flattering” and “not to show so much skin” and “put your boobs away Melissa, you are scaring the children.”


Oh, I’m sorry, I would have cleavage even if I wore a turtleneck and I’m sick of trying to hide it.

Fat pigs love to assert a phony pride in their tits. But sacs of amorphous blubber don’t an attractive bust make. That’s not cleavage, Miss Piggy, that’s a sandworm lair.

My own father told me when I was 10 years old that no man would ever want to hold my hand unless I lost weight and stopped biting my fingernails.

Father of the Year. Not kidding. She only had to listen…

LOL@dad, they want to do so much more than hold hands now.

F YOU DAD, giving blowjobs in the dark to drunk losers is where I’m at now!

I am fat and I have casual sex with strangers, attractive strangers even.

That “even” is such a deadweight giveaway. Translation: once, a long time ago when she wasn’t yet fully fattened for the slaughter, she scissored with a lesbian who actually made the effort to trim her bush and shoo the parrots and monkeys out.

It was an impromptu mini vacation before I move to Portland to go back to school for my art degree, start a boudoir photography business and live amongst other body-positive, sex-positive women like myself and the beautiful beards that love us.

Who can tell parody from reality anymore?

I started swiping right on men and women on Tinder as I waited to deplane at LAX.

“Deplane, boss, deplane!” “No, that’s not a plane, Tattoo, it’s a fattie.”

I follow Amber Rose on Instagram and I find it infuriating watching other women tear each other down for what they choose to do with their own bodies.

The shunning of disfigured mental disease vectors is required.

I also find equally disturbing the entitlement some men demonstrate when a woman chooses to display any amount of skin or overt sexuality in their presence.

Men’s attractiveness standards are required. (Overt female sexuality is only offensive to men when it emerges like a reverse fat caterpillar from a size XXXXXXL chrysalis (a hard-shelled fupa).)

To me, being called a slut isn’t degrading.

The extra 200 pounds set her degradation bar high.

I see it as empowering and symbolic of me taking ownership over what I choose to do with MY body.

Stuff it full of cheap carbs until her days are an endless bloat parade of joint pain, labored breathing, smegma farming, and romantic failure.

My fat beautiful curvy soft body.

Ya know, slender women have curvy, soft bodies, too. So you don’t have that going for you, fatty.

Much to my surprise, people in LA utilize Tinder’s “Super Like” option like nobody’s business, making my quest for adventure that much easier.

Like pizza delivery.

Before I got to my first hotel I was talking to six or seven very attractive strangers.

“very attractive strangers”. The porky pig’s try-hard protestation is so transparent. Reality: these very attractive strangers looked like extras from the Star Wars cantina scene.

I have found that most men who want casual sex aren’t creeps or rapists.

Fat woman standards are very flexible, unlike their joints.

They just want to feel pleasure and make a connection however brief, just like me.

“however brief” :lol: :lol:

Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal. Sex doesn’t need to equal love for it to be mind blowing.

The grapes, they are sour.

It can also be about mutual pleasure and the way two or more bodies fit and complement each other.

with the help of a crowbar.

I have a pretty strict vetting process for picking up men and I have never had any problems.

“Zero alternative dating options? Check.”

I have pictures on my Tinder profile that are quite suggestive.

of a rhino birth.

If a man can have a normal conversation with me without getting gross and demanding, I give him the green-light and we keep chatting for a bit until we agree to meet up.

Men, you don’t need game to pick up fatties. You can talk about the weather with her, if you want. What are you waiting for? (“a hindbrain transmutation”) oh, right.

I find it’s easy to pick up on the entitlement factor, and that is a major red flag.

Total loser goes out with uglyfat, has the gall to think this means she’ll put out for parking meter change.

Just because a woman is showing skin doesn’t mean you have the right to expect sex from her.

That’s not why the losers who go out with you expect sex. (hint: it’s the lsmv corpulence)

Sometimes we meet for coffee, sometimes we go on an actual date, sometimes I go to their house and we are having sex within 15 minutes and sometimes they come to my hotel room at 2am and we bond over Louis C.K. and then laugh a lot and start going at it and it feels like old friends.

I.e., she has given up on the dream of love and marriage.

This bed won’t stay empty for long.

The chicken wing bones will see to that.

I had my own multi-city-state Slut Walk in a different city every night, with my mom staying in a hotel room right across the hall.

Ever notice the typical Slut Walker is the kind of woman least likely to have the opportunity to slut it up with men? Something else to notice: mothers of grossly obese daughters are so despondent for their child’s romantic future that any display of sexuality, however skanky and soul-crushing, fills them with pride.

Oddly enough, two of my hookups visit Portland rather frequently. Round two has been discussed and I am sure will happen at some point in the future.

The triumph of hope over pump and dump.

Each guy was attractive in his own way

All of the men I have ever talked to have been nothing but complimentary about my body.

Fatties will believe anything.

I have never had anyone see me in person and walk away or stand me up.

They spotted her on the approach and darted into an alley for a quick, unnoticed escape.

I am currently the biggest I have ever been and at the same time I feel the sexiest and most present in my body that I have ever felt in my life.

What a coincidence.

I am no longer afraid of my desires or being naked in front of others.

I own my sexuality and my choices.

So do slender women, and they don’t have to lie about feeling sexy.

I have a certain number of sexy individuals to thank for that.

And those individuals are Channing Tatum, Brad Pitt, and Barack Obama.

And no, I’m not telling you my number.

(it’s large and in charge)

Well, fuckin phew, that was a hot mess.

The purpose of posts like this one, besides the slaking of very special hedonistic and aesthetic urges, is to brutally shame these shoggoths off the internet forever. Their fat pride is poison, their phony self-esteem is propaganda, and their feminist platitudes are comfort to fellow misfits providing rhetorical rationalizations to avoid taking any steps to genuinely improving themselves.

Shaming uglyfats into oblivion is not just fun, it’s a righteous moral imperative.

Whenever you read some fatty going on about how much men love her “””curves”””, and all the “””great sex””” she’s having with “””hot studs”””, you’ll know she’s lying to protect her ego from the Day of Mirrors. There are no hot studs in her bed. She is not having any sex, let alone great sex. And she will never know love in the way that a slender woman will know love.

This is the message fat chicks should be receiving, loud and clear and continually, if truth and beauty are your scene. Anything deviating from this cruel to be kind message of realtalk will only increase and amplify the ugliness, of body and mind and soul, in the world.

…here’s what you may have missed:

  1. miscegenation is rampant. mostly one kind: white women with black men. also, the boob tube landscape is filling with mystery meat kids.
  2. grrlpower is on steroids. women run corporations, the military, and the united federation of planets. in fights, they routinely kick the asses of men twice their size.
  3. the bad guys are still nordic-looking white men. (with a few notable exceptions)
  4. insipid feminist boilerplate is not just implied, it is blatantly preached. the effect is jarring to anyone with half a brain cell.
  5. fags are everywhere, and all of them are well-adjusted middle class normals, brandishing the aforementioned mystery meat adopted children.
  6. did i mention the mudsharking? jeezus.
  7. black characters are still numinous, still wise, still doctors, lawyers, judges, and (most laughably) deep state operatives.
  8. trannies are beginning to make appearances. (glowing, of course)

There you have it. Entertainment for the masses has become a shitlib propaganda machine, and they are not letting up on the gas. They want to drive American culture straight into a Wall of Poz.

The Trumpening Heralds

A recent poll shows that in a hypothetical general election match-up between Grandma Rodham-Sociopath and Der Trumpening, the charismatic jerkboy tops Huma’s lesbian lover. The trend lines look, in a word, delicious!

The Purple Saguaro Within wept. Before the cuck crows thrice, his tears will become a river, and then an ocean.

Meanwhile, Trump has reTwatted a hatefact about black crime. Not coincidentally, CH Twatted the same graphic just a day prior. Donald and CH, we dance under the silver moonlight.

Has there ever… EVER… been a major American presidential candidate in the “modern” era who came half this close to unequivocally broaching the topic of disproportionate dindushines? Trump also recently mocked food stamp recipients and fatties in one fell swoop during a speech. Can this love I feel be real?

This is so sad, but not for the reasons ankle-biters think. A Frenchmanlet (you’ll understand the appellation in a minute), lost his wife, a fetching White woman, to the Muslim murderers in Paris, and now raises his infant son alone. He has what he imagines is a dispiriting message for his wife’s killers.

Dear beta males afraid to hate,

CH has a message for you that I hope will stir as many hearts as your message has lulled to sleep:

There is no virtue in denying your hatred of those that would kill you and yours. Cowardly shirking mincing mewling faggot shitlibs think your high-mindedness and your determination, or stupidity, to “not cast a distrustful eye to your fellow [Muslim] citizens” is the stuff of true heroism.

But it’s not. Hate is the yang to love’s yin. Your refusal to allow a healthy hate to course through you, and enliven your spirit to action, is surrender. It is retreat from a vital emotion that, when welcomed as circumstances require, will motivate a man to protect his family, his friends, his countrymen.

Maybe that’s the cause of your descent into hollow calls for impassive stoicism in the face of grave threat from outsiders.

There are no White countrymen with a sense of shared heritage worth preserving in the West anymore. Diversity™ saw to that. And there are no White families anymore. Diversity™ is seeing to that, as well, as native birth rates plummet in reaction to the loss of public space. We have our friends, but they disappear behind blue screens and shut-in lives enabled by internet delivery services. So what is there to protect, besides one’s moral posturing? If all you have is desolate ego validation from faceless, deracinated defeatists on social media, then it follows naturally to throw the memory of your pretty wife under the bus for the reward of the one thing that matters anymore in your shattering world… your grandiloquent moral rectitude.

Necessity is the mother of rationalization.

Refusing to hate murderous aliens in your midst who laugh at your haughty self-righteousness as they draw the knife across your throat is not noble

not heroic

not admirable

not morally superior.

It is the payment of meekness for comfort. Of weak-minded shibboleth for solace. Of saccharine platitude for avoidance of conflict.

White European Man, this is, if you’ll pardon the pun, your Darkest Hour. If there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it recedes to a pinpoint, flickering and threatening to extinguish… or to explode suddenly at its densest gravitational collapse, like a supernova, flooding your eyes and your conscience with the true nature of the war being waged against you.

La haine est aussi naturel que l’amour.


PA explores an angle that has bothered me, too. What was this Frenchmanlet’s wife doing at a death metal disco? Without him, presumably?

I don’t know anything about that man’s marriage but I can say with confidence that most Western men have never known the love of a woman because most Western women’s capacity for love is strangled early and often. In this case, his wife, an ageing mother, died at a disco. How do you love a woman who does not submit herself to you?

Did that French man ever sit on his couch sipping his favorite poison, while she curled up on the floor and snuggled up to his feet? Do you miss a woman who never showed you, with every gram of her devotion, that you own her fully?

If she did that, how would you mourn a woman like that? Would you go mad with sorrow? Would you coldly plot something that would land you in hell except for God’s mercy in this particular case?

She is gone. I don’t know what his wife was like and how he felt about her before she died. But he has a small child, to whom he can’t explain that mama is never coming back.

A wife and mother in her 30s spending her leisure time head-banging at da club, while beta hubby and infant child wait for her at home, is a powerful symbol of Western White decline. The message has to get out, otherwise White women will head-bang their way into race oblivion, and ultimately fulfill the White race cuckoldry fantasies of the degenerate reptile mafia.


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