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Archive for the ‘Attention Whore of the Month’ Category

Hat tip, El Kapitan, who writes,

Check out this one. It sums up western Europe so beautifully:

-A rude, aggressive immigrant openly breaking the law.
-A well meaning but completely powerless “native” man.
-A virtue signaling woman, complete with what appears to be a variation of a pussy hat. Prepare to feel organically misogynistic by the end.

Englishmen are the world’s most pathetic White Knights. Even the stronger among them who have the stones to reprimand a drunk migrant on public transit will wilt like summer flowers under the stern gaze of one of their shitlib women.

And just as expected, the Pathetic White Knight receives for his valor the reward of one of his own women coming to the defense of the ingrate migrant. You know how those Western educated shitliberal chicks dig jerkboys! Maybe that’s the problem…Western women don’t want to be their Western men’s women any longer; they want to be the Swarth World’s women.

williamk adds,

My shilling is on limey. Firm, still body language, holds eye contact. Migrant always looks away first and has more random, uncontrolled energy. Would it translate to a fight? Don’t know, but the brit is clearly the alpha of the dynamic here. He even gets up for the “lady” and then swats away her little soliloquoy with total frame control.

Like DNC, I suspect gypsy. Would a “polish” guy be so quick to play the “race” card? I truly don’t know, UK brahs can help – do poles play the racial outsider angle like this? Its fishy.

The drunk looks gypsy or Serb to me, but he could be a mixed ethnicity Pole. Poles have assimilated well in the US, having caused very little trouble historically in this country. I can tell you for sure that if this migrant had been a kebab or cannibal, our Englishman would have taken a knife to the gut as soon as he opened his mouth to complain. But I agree with williamk; the limey has the alpha body language and vocal tone here. Too bad he gives it all away as soon as yon faire maiden chastised him.

“Shut up, cunt,” was the only acceptable response to that fishmouth termagant when she decided to stretch out her piehole and virtue snivel for the assembled.

I can tell you this…White Men of the West are getting pissed off. If the current state of Uppity Phaggotry will ever end, it will be at the hands and by the will of angry White Men.

White men want their White women to stand by them in their fight against the Invasion. Instead, our White women prefer betrayal. They won’t be loyal until White men wield the pimp hand again. And that means White Knights have to be as mercilessly mocked as is civilization’s mortal in-house enemy, the pursed-lip pussyhatter femcunt.

Sanctimonious, virtue sniveling White women who refuse to fight for their nations by standing by their men are mortal enemies of the West. They will only defer to the pimp hand.

***

A pro comment from Scanman:

Note the invader’s assertion that “you have no right to tell me not to drink. Tell the police.”

The idea that rules are something members of a community agree to abide by in order to maintain certain standards and quality of life of the community is a high trust culture idea (Anglo Saxon, Germanic, Scandinavian).

In asiatic/Mid East/African cultures, rules are something decreed from the top down to be obeyed solely to avoid punishment. If you can reliably avoid punishment (which this belligerent asshole knew for certain that he could), there is no reason to obey them.

Now keeping this in mind, someone please explain to me how The Bill of Rights survives when the founding Anglo Saxon stock becomes a minority in the US. If you think Guatemalans or Nigerians give two fucks about such things, you are completely deluded. It was something they had to know to pass the citizenship exam. Nothing more.

Society is a genetic construct. Women don’t have to understand it but they sure as hell have to abide by it or we might as well just burn the whole bitch down.

I’d argue it’s a fool’s errand trying to impart understanding of biocultural realities to women; they will only revolt against those realities. Better and more effective to expect women to simply abide social rules. The trick is ensuring that the social rules are created by White men and not by ingrate invaders.

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Le 56% Four are lionized here.

Related.

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😆 😆 😆

The real face of the Repeal The 2nd Amendment March is a Democrat Baby Boomer wearing a pussyhat to feel young and hip again. It looks like this:

Still laughing. Gun grabbers aren’t the future; they’re the musty old cat lady boomers of the past.

Watergate Ghost quips,

Who here is shocked that the Democrat propaganda march was filled with the same boots that fill out every other Democrat propaganda march?

These flabby pussyhatter cat lady cows with one foot in the coffin don’t have much of a romantic life, so they have to fill their free time with something other than suicidal thoughts. BOOM ON.

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“George Washington slept here” is a pretty common plaque found at or near historical sites throughout colonial America. As his legend grew, American households which hosted the Great Man for the night were proud to publicly say so, even if his presence in their humble abodes was apocryphal.

Likewise, hot sluts who hosted today’s Great Man — President Donald Trump — in their vaginas are proud to publicly say so, and will go to any lengths to be allowed to preen that their vajeen was a canteen for Trump’s alpha cream.

How many hsmv women has Trump pumped? Trump apparently boffed the entire back catalog of Playboy centerfolds. GAME RECOGNIZED.

Porn whore Stormy Daniels is so desperate to prove that she caught the attention of the world’s most foremost alpha male who used her as a Godseed receptacle that she took a lie detector test, and gave us this timelessly iconic Clockwork Orange-esque pic instead:

Atavator writes,

Game measured! [ed: lol] And by the way, is this a polygraph, or a tit scale? I think this is excellent pictorial representation of just how desperate the establishment is to take Trump down.

Yes, you’ve gotta think that for a number of these women, “Trump slept with me” is their last hurrah. It’s a great study in female psychology. At the time they signed these agreements, they figured they’d have no trouble abiding by them. After all, having concluded their affairs with Trump, they were off to ride other Alpha men. They didn’t foresee… apparently couldn’t foresee… a time when that would be over.

That’s exactly it. This is all sexiness signaling by aging has-beens. The difference between sexiness and sexiness signaling is the same as the difference between virtue and virtue signaling: the former is the real deal while the latter is a claim to being the real deal (but is usually just hypocrisy or self-serving ego stroking). A sexiness signaling woman is admitting she USED to be sexy and tacitly suggesting she MAY still be sexy enough to catch the eye of high value men.

Carlos Danger wonders,

Who rivals Trump’s bedpost notches in terms of quality? DiCaprio? Maybe Brady pre-Gisele? And Trump gets there with 50 more pounds, 30 more years, and the pompadour. Impressive.

If the stories and rumors are true, I don’t think many men can rival both the quality and quantity of Trump’s notch count. The man is as close to a modren day Genghis Khan as a Westerner can be. Wilt Chamberlain? Nah, I read somewhere most of his lays were with ghetto groupie trash. Porfirio Rubirosa might top Trump’s meet-to-lay ratio.

I have to imagine Sinatra is up there.

Wasn’t Sean Connery legendary in his day? Going way back, you’d have to give the nod to Lord Byron, Voltaire, and similar Supreme Gentlemen of the West. Some (pre-indie hipster) stadium rockers could rival Trump’s womanizer score. John Bonham was known for his unreal hotel room orgies. He once said he couldn’t tell which vagina belonged with which face when he was in the middle of a romp.

anon writes,

from the the looks of it, Trump has never slept with an ugly girl in his life.

That’s the small detail that elevates Trump’s womanizing well above the human plane.

A word about Trump’s Women. We have the obvious angle — a cat herd of Wall impact whores looking to cash in on the bottomless appetite of Shitlib, America for salacious stories about Trump’s sexual stamina (Freud would have a field day) while the cashing in is good — and the angle obvious only to Chateau guests: none of these cum dumpsters cumming out of the woodwork now to relive their glory days getting Pump and Trumped, or accusing Trump of allegedly taking their flirtations at face value, were scandalized at the time of the alleged affairs and grandfathered PoundMeToo infractions.

I guarantee that every woman who is now crowing about getting fucked by Trump, or moaning about getting groped by Trump, absolutely, undeniably, LOVED HIS GOD ALPHA ATTENTIONS AT THE TIME THEY HAPPENED. This is because women are viscerally attracted to powerful men, much the same way men are viscerally attracted to beautiful, young women. Women can’t help themselves around powerful confident men; they lose all sense and judgment and notion of personal accountability.

Women go into every alpha male flirtation with the subconscious hope that he will make her his princess (or his movie star, in the case of weinstein). Even the sloppiest of slopworn sluts feels this way in the presence of a mortal GodKing. It’s not until years and hundreds of wrinkles later that some of these women, realizing they have been had by a cad and by the merciless approach of the Wall, give in to their bitterness and lash out at the man who would be theirs but chose differently. In a fury of spite against the God of Biomechanics, these cast-aside bitterbitches try to take down the powerful men who once loved them, believing in their tiny black hearts that this will redeem their poor life choices.

And this secret desire hits ostensible Trump-hater pussyhatters, too.

Trump (or Trump’s hog) is living rent-free in her vagina.

In related news, feminists are finally starting to catch on that sexbots will mean the end of their romantic possibilities. In France, femcunts are trying to change the law to include nonconsensual sex with sex dolls under the definition of rape. Please don’t bother trying to work out the logic of their stance, you’ll only be met with MUH FEELZ, MISOGYNIST!

If feminists are allowed to ban male sex substitutes, then patriarchs are allowed to ban dildos, vibrators, pulp romance novels, and pretty much everything broadcast or streamed on TV. Fair’s fair.

***

Jay in DC writes,

There has been a long list of vag slayers of Trump caliber. Sinatra, Warren Beatty, Redford, (Connery as mentioned), etc. Even Kennedy was neck deep in pussy far beyond Marilyn Monroe if the rumor mill is to be believed.

This was a non-event in times passed. Only in this faggoty and #metoo era are high status alpha males who are showered in trim some kind of neo-puritan scandal.

Fuck man, for anything you think about him even Slick Willy was a very smooth talker and got ALOT of pussy. Far more than Killary would like her cogdis to ever come to grips with.

Both Bill Clinton and Art of the Sealed Deal Trump are charming. but Bill is a classic case of the charming alpha hitched to a snarling ballcutter, so to him any juicy adoring prolehole seemed like a goddess. Trump has mingled and commingled with hotties his whole life. His wives were the opposite of thecunt hillary. Trump’s mistress standards were thus a lot higher than Bill’s. And tbh I think Bubba was a borderline sociopath and probably did rape that Paula broad in a fit of sexual energy after spending weeks on the couch escaping from dragonbreath hillary breathing fire on him.

Trump, otoh, is not a sociopath. He’s a confident jerkboy full of justified swagger who seems to genuinely love women, and loves making love with beautiful women. He hurts his wives satisfying his urges, but he has the good sense to keep it discrete, and I wouldn’t doubt if he’s had conversations with his wives that his appetite is yuge and they should accept that part of him, in exchange for assurances that they will always be his number ones and he will never fall in love with his mistresses.

If you want a leader with the HEAVY BALLS to take on the Deep State, then you’ll have to reconcile yourself to a leader with the HEAVY BALLS to have a romantic history filled to brimming with porn stars and centerfolds.

Manly vigor is a complete package. (heh)

williamk writes,

Trump gave this lifestyle up for us.

Other men (like Bill Clinton) attain power for the purpose of getting pussy. Trump gave up getting pussy in order to deserve power. Its pretty amazing.

His enemies know his weakness; he’s probably swatted away numerous honeypot attempts. My bet is Trump was smart enough to give up getting strange when he decided to run for president. And of course, chances he’s had any new pussy since getting inaugurated is just about 0%.

Trump’s sacrifices shame our craven self-serving establishment rulers. He deserves our loyalty. He deserves our fight.

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Female hypergamy isn’t equally voracious in all women, but all women are hypergamous to an extent. Absent social controls (aka a dominant and benevolently sexist patriarchy), women will revert to their primitive form: willing and eager concubines to an alpha male’s harem as the beta males are recruited for frontline fodder and emotional tampons.

Our Twatterer above is @missmayn:

Not too shabby for a broad touched by the mystery meat brush. Would bang……and bolt. She’s right to emphasize her fuckability, because with her attitude and thousand cock stare*, her value as relationship material is bargain bint.

*Her right eye is half-closed from an irritating wayward cumshot.

Of course, her LTR worthiness hardly matters in the hypergamous feminist dystopia she wants for her and her bastard progeny; as long as beta males are platonically squeezed dry for their civilization-sustaining efforts, women can afford to fuck around and have Beta Daddy State pick up the tab for their fatherless sprog. Welcome to Africa-lite, soon to be Africa-maximum when those beta males figure out the scam and decide to opt out of their fleecing. Then Miss Never A Mayn Squeeze can deal with the “best men” beating her like an untrained puppy and segregating her in the grass hut that is now her home because women don’t build things, maintain things, or lead anything.

Poolside looking better yet, gentlemen?

***

Update

Here’s a photobooth picture of Miss Mayn with her bf:

Now what does her bf’s soy-soaked gaping betaphag mughole remind me of…..oh yeah: the nümale grimace aka Moneyshot Face.

This leetle detail explains everything. Miss Mayn is transferring her animal disgust for her soyboy onto every beta male who crossed her cum-eyed path. She has him, when what she really tingles for is…..him:

The date stamp on that booth photo is a year ago. Taking bets on whether they’re still together or how much longer they’ll last if they are still in unpolarized union.

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A great comment by SebastianX1/9 over at Sailer’s blog, musing about the Me Too, Please sex panic and its end game,

You are watching the real-time abolition of romantic love and courtship, to be replaced with mediated social media. Unmediated human interaction is being fazed out. They mean to abolish physical reality and the possibility of talking in person. Flirtation, romance, banter, charm, poise, casual human interaction – all of these things have been diminished.

I have a lot more to say on this subject, but for now take a moment to think about the path to anhedonic hell our culture is determined to travel, and why it has come to be at this point of history that love is under attack from the very forces which claim the mantle of love.

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Democrat Mayor of New Brighton, MN, the tubby post-menopausal schoolmarmish Val Johnson, is emblematic of the shitliberal establishment in predominantly White regions of the country. Here she is caught on video having an emotional breakdown ranting about the phantasm of “White privilege” (via):

Female brain gone insane.

This is your political party on estrogen, hot flashes, and dying ovaries. The feminization of the Democreeps means more crazy cat ladies virtue signaling like lunatics about all the browns and blacks they “look after” while haranguing White men about their privilege and misogyny. The mass influx of bitter hags and wrecked sluts into politics has been a disaster for the West, no doubt about it.

What’s more pathetic than this cunt’s psychotic break in the video, if that’s possible, is the collective reaction of the four UGH WHITE MALES sitting there taking hot splooges of this broad’s insanity to their faces. Not one of these “””men””” had the balls to tell this shrike to shut the hell up? You know they were all thinking it. At least, you hope they were thinking it; maybe shitlib White men are so utterly emasculated that this feels like normal to them. They would feel adrift without some rancid cunt shrieking like a banshee about how evil and stupid and entitled they are.

Anti-White feminism is a civilization-wide shit test, and men are failing it, badly. What the country needs more than ever is one man with brass ones to jab a chadfinger in one of these cunt’s porky mugs and tell her off. “There’s no such thing as White privilege you stupid old shrew, and if you keep it up I’m gonna throw you out of a helicopter!”

The Emascunations of the West are feeding the delusions of our worst people, and so naturally we are getting more shitty people behaving even shittier than ever running things into the ground. When the eunuchs guard the cunts, civ death is close at hand. Alexis de Tocqueville warned that America would turn into a country of masculine women and weak men, and that’s exactly what happened. The crazy cat ladies, homos, and ball-less wonders are at the helm, steering the ship of state straight into the litter box.

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There’s this bar/nightclub that has two floors, the second floor extending about 2/3rds of the way out from the back of the venue, so that those on the first floor near the front of the club can look up and see people on the second floor. (it’s great for boning up (heh) on your upskirting skills.) An iron railing about waist high protects dancers and drunkards from falling over the edge into the crowd below, though I can’t fathom how there haven’t been topplings that I know of, given the nature of drunkards to fall over just about anything that isn’t a brick wall.

The club gradually morphed from a Chad-White bro-scene to a Dindu savannah, but it never completely de-gentrified (bixnoodified?). A given Saturday night could be 50/50 White/black. Many of the blacks were hardcore ghettolanders bused in from duskier parts of town, so the 50/50 ratio felt more like 10/90 if you were a wypipo. One street creature carries the menace of one thousand of Shaun King’s threatening tweets.

The night would quickly humidify with the influx of MUH DIKKING and jungle musk, and White Privilege at that time never felt more remote. But it was still fun to stay despite the risk of a massive house riot because of what would eventually and inevitably transpire on that exposed second floor. The nubian ladies would line up along the edge, two-handedly grab the railing, bend over and jut their steatopygian buttocks out as far as possible, rhythmically swaying and bouncing and jiggling their leopard skin tights-clad, dimpled posteriors with a ferocity that would evoke a post-monsoon reproductive dash for ass among Africa’s red-butted fauna.

Then the real show began. The brothers in their knee-high sweatpants would lope into the buoyant backsides of these Nail Rail sisters, making a big show of judging the asses for quality — some nodding their heads and licking their lips in vigorous approval, other stroking their chins in phony discernment — before channeling Al Frankenstien on Viagra and pressing their tighty-whitey-strained boners into the gluteal abyss of not one, but two, three, or ten event horizon booty cracks.

The Bump n Grind commenced, howls and hoots and screeches that startled birds and sent them flying out of the canopy would echo off the walls of the club. Spilled drinks, sweat, spit, and possibly semen would rain down on the first floor denizens who were staring upward mouths agape in unbelieving laughter. After a short while, the tribal “music” having sufficiently worked the participants into a copulatory frenzy, the fertility dance would move to stage three. Already ten to fifteen sassy girls were displaying along the Nailing Railing, and the woefully underprivileged and eternally victimized gentlemen of color would begin the musical chair part of the mating ritual, swapping girls between each other, slapping asses with an air of perfunctory ownership as they entered and exited ass cubbies.

Usually the buckiest of the daggering brothers would hog (heh) the preponderance of booty, overstaying his time with each ass, choosing the finest ass (as he saw it) from among a murderer’s row of gargantuan globularity, and grabbing two asses at once, one glued to his pelvic region, the other tickled into a spastic froth by his outstretched hand. It was at this time that the scent of sudden mayhem was strongest, and the possibility of a violent resolution bristled through capillaries and engulfed the room, electrifying the senses.

This is when the smarter Whites leave, (the smartest Whites never arrive), but for one time the crowd remained in full as a climactic scene unfolded that stunned the gallery before a great laughter ensued. At the mating dance’s peak excitation, a tall scrawny nerdy White man with “I’m a shitlib Virtue Signaler” practically tattooed on his fivehead stepped confidently into the tush pit, smiling goofily, full of wonder and joy at his chance to bond with the natives, and bounced heavily at the knee near an open black behind, waiting for a cue from one of his hued heroes to enter the Dark Incontinent without a safari guide. The Flummoxed Flava took one long incredulous look at this Supreme Dork, promptly cackled in unison, slapped his back, and pushed him into the booty dead center at the rail.

Below, the crowd erupted in cheers. Gangly and spindly, our brave sinfiltrator jerked his body like a broken marionette to the smooth gyrations of his amour, nearly disappearing into the sea of butt blubber. Slipping on the wet floor, he almost dove headfirst over her back and the railing, but steadied himself by planting his paw in the thiccness of her shoulder padding, and it was at this moment that his other hand swiped right….toward her giant tit mashed into the iron bar. He leered at the crowd as he gave it a lusty squeeze, at which the girl turned to look back at him, stood up, shook her head in that OH NO YOU DINT way, and slapped his face. He rocked backwards from the force of it, and the gathered brothers released gales of knee-slapping, tongue-wagging laughter as they resumed their spots in the tar pits.

There is no moral to this story except don’t go looking for love in the bush.

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