Google Gal Gaga For Gangstas

It;s not just the low self-esteem, indigent, welfare class white-less girls who dig jailbird jerkboys. A well-off White woman who works for Google, excuse me Goolag, gushes (literally) over prison inmates in this article titled “Prison, Proximity, Pure Humanity”. (CH version: Delinquency + Proximity = Open Vaginity.)

The reader who emailed the link thoroughly cross-examines all its implications, so I’ll repost what he wrote rather than write essentially the same thing myself.

Fodder for your chicks dig jerks and criminals subseries, with a dash of Goolag. A white collar white woman who works for Google and verbally splooshes over the thugs in a California prison.

So, this woman by the hippie name of Sage Moon (she’s white, or maybe happa), who by the way is a full time Google employee, penned the following felon-sploosh essay about her outreach work at a local prison. If you don’t trust email links, it can also be found by Binging or DuckDuckGoing terms like “sage moon prison proximity pure humanity”.

On her LinkedIn, she humbly describes herself as “Story-Teller | Smart-Creative | Global Policy Wizard”. (Have you noticed public female egomania has became socially acceptable, even blase – every woman declares herself Wonder Woman meets Denerys Mother of Dragons?)

Self-glorification is practically a rite of passage for today’s gogogrrl. In stark contrast, men must abjectly renounce their egos and prostrate themselves before the GloboCunt.

By the way, ‘Policy’ at companies like Google usually is the go-to term for the people who deal with PR and government lobbying type stuff…..so this little slice of life may also shine some insight on the sort of employees who are the liaisons between Google and the Democrat party and Deep State.

Web of shrikes.

But I digress. Sage Moon starts by describing her experience with the prisoners: “To call it ‘life-changing’ diminishes my experience. This was soulful. Raw. Nothing but absolutely human at its core.”.

Bet ya she’s never talked about her interactions with the nerds at Google as ‘soulful’ or ‘raw’ or ‘absolutely human’. She drivels on with which bodice-ripping language such as

“Carl never took his eyes off mine, and I never took mine off his. Tears streamed down my cheeks but I smiled through them; I radiated every.single.ounce of love in my being to every man in that room.”.

Chicks need to feel desired by dominant men. When a prisoner locks stone cold killer eyes and unlocks his tongue to speak in powerfully emotive grunts and curses, the woman will feel something she has never felt with the masses of mediocre betas who flit around her inoffensively: she’ll feel vulnerable. Vulnerable and objectified. With no remorse, no apology from the man. What a feeling if you are a woman! It must be as if Lucifer Himself flicked her clit with a bony red finger.

It’s interspersed with sappy song lyrics. Then she talks about how Carl the crook gave her a rose to remember him. You can’t make this shit up.

I know there’s a Chateau maxim somewhere in the archives about one heartfelt cheap display of love meaning more to a woman than expensive vacations and jewelry.

The essay drivels on about emotion and humanity and how ‘we’re all ex-somethings’ (maybe Sage is thinking of her own exes from the carousel?)

So here’s what’s so hilarious to me: she isn’t some poor white trash skank who lives in a no-name town with a big local prison and naught else. If she works at Google in California, she is surrounded by nerdy genius-IQ white knight beta males pulling mid six figures, with the local gender ratio skewed in her favor, I guarantee it. And she’s getting paid to hang out with them 9 to 5.

Beta male nerds should spend some time in jail, or make up stories about jail time. It’ll help them get laid and get loved.

And yet she volunteers to spend unpaid hours on a bus going across the state to go do volunteer work and hang out with locked up thugs elsewhere in California. Then she – publicly, on LinkedIn, her professional social media profile – proudly pens this purple-prose essay about how raw and human it all is. (I’ll bet she was raw, after getting home and spending a few hours with the purple rabbit while she reminisced over Carl.)

When I first saw this, I was reminded of your heartiste posts about chicks and prisoners. If you make a post about this gem, don’t mention my email address in the post, but feel free to quote parts of my email. However my own words can scarcely do it justice – the essay truly speaks for itself, as you’ll see, and I can scarcely make reading between its lines even more obvious than it will be to you or any red-pilled heartiste readers.

Been reading for years. Keep up the party. I’m convinced that the mainstream percolation of terms like cuck and red-pilling all trace back to you. You’ve nudged the needle and Overton window on the culture.

Female nature is so poorly understood by so many men because one, they don’t have a well of experience to draw from and two, they actively fight against the dreary acknowledgment that their romantic ideals are built on a foundation of sand. Or on birth control pills and sappy poems written as odes to hardened inmates.

I’m not claiming that all women will rush to the local prison yard to meet a man, but I am saying that the nontrivial minority of women who do, or who fantasize about doing so, is a leading indicator that all women harbor in their souls an ancient and untamable urge to bend to their knees and break their hearts open to a man who has proved willing to laugh in the face of societal expectation and feminist demands, and to take what he wants without a consent form nor promises of lifelong provisioning.

If the role of man is to dominate, then by the principle of reciprocation the role of woman is to submit. And both sexes never feel more alive than when assuming their proper biomechanical roles.