Every once in a while one sees the exceptional couple who together smash realtrue stereotypes. I saw one such recently. A very striking, tall and slender blonde White woman kissing her asian boyfriend adieu. I’ve seen White woman-asian man couples before, but usually the woman was nothing to write home about, which is how this particular couple managed to jot a tittle in my limbic ledger.
No one wants asian guy? Not her. She wants asian guy!
Naturally my forensic Eye of Shivron whirred into gear to assess this violation of the cosmic biomechanic laws. The asian guy wasn’t a Keanuiac half-breed. Full-blooded from slope to slant. He did have some physical advantages which set himself apart from the usual ant people test-cheating hordes. He was average height (which adjusted to asian standards meant he was tall). He dressed like an A&F frat bro: crisp knit shirt, plaid shorts and sockless docksiders. Muscle-wise, also average (which again adjusted to asian standards meant he was buff). Facially, inoffensive enough to make a few asian-american girls rethink their opposition to dating inside the nippon tribe. Jawline was acceptably uncucked.
All in all, he looked completely Americanized (I’d guessed he was Japanese-American, but could easily have been Korean). Still, his alabaster lady was a White hard HB8 topping to a model-esque 5’9″ or so. And clearly, unmistakably, in love with him. (When he turned to leave her behind, I caught her staring longingly at his retreating figure for a few seconds. Those rovebirds!)
He could’ve been loaded, sure, but I think it was something else. Something that this man —
the fairy godmother of manlets, has similarly exhibited in photos with his hotter, tighter, younger wife who is at least three standard deviations out of his league (if we define “league” solely by the draw of a man’s physical appearance).
Wondering what that something is which our SWAG roverboy had? Look at these Kucinich pics and see if you can figure it out:
You’d be hard-pressed to burden a man with more physical and ideological shortcomings than Dennis “The Kuntroller” Kucinich — short, weird looking, skinny, old, liberal kook — yet here he is married to a genuine red-headed hottie. His unicorn horn stands taller than many nü-Aryan shitlords’ war pikes.
Yet the photos of him with his beauty reveal his secret. Notice anything missing?
That’s right, NO HOVERHAND.
Kucinich holds his lady tight and right, drawing her into him and pressing her flesh into his feeble old mannery that does not even lift. Notice too he doesn’t lean into her; if anyone’s leaning adoringly, it’s her.
Kucinich’s alpha male body language transmits a loud and clear message: “I take complete ownership of my woman”.
Ownership, aka men’s prerogative, is a vital ingredient in romantic relationships. Feminists and manlets swoon with hysteria, but TruGirls love it when a man doesn’t mince his meat. Declaring ownership of your woman, especially in public, is a powerful signal not only to other women that you have the mysterious “he’s got it” goods, but also a reminder to your beloved that you don’t live in apprehension that she’ll someday soon withdraw her love. Body language ownership is the opposite of the appeasement and fearfulness that the hoverhand betrays of a man’s character.
Returning to our SWAG, that’s what he had. In spades. During the kiss goodbye, he drew her by the waist into his chest and squeezed her ass in full view of NSA surveillance cameras. He winked at her before turning to depart, and didn’t look back to assure she was still tailing him with her gaze. There was no hoverhand, no leaning, no awkward pigeon footing, and no tender salivary pecks and canoodles so common among beta males who think a woman’s bosom is a security pillow to nestle their weary cuckheads.
Lesson of the lovingkindness: The right attitude and an unflinching assgrab will more than compensate for a man’s physical imperfections. If only more men would learn this lesson instead of projecting the contours of their visual-centric desire onto women.
PS Anecdotally, I don’t feel nearly as much aesthetic repulsion to WW-AM couples as I do to mudsharks. Maybe my hindbrain swiftly calculates that the genetic distance, physically, behaviorally, and mentally, between a White woman and a northeast asian man is a relatively small one set against the Saharan expanse between a White woman and a black man, and therefore my disgust reflex is comparatively dampened with the sight of the former. One is taking a piss in the White gene pool while the other is dropping a steaming deuce in it. Alternately, it could be that the extreme rarity of the former makes it more of a curiosity to me, and thus less noxious, while the relatively higher frequency and, especially, propaganda-fueled essence of the mudsharkers provokes a stronger emotional response (tied up as these coal burning couples inevitably are with their anti-White Narrative sponsorship).