The Number One Sign A Girl Is A Raging Slut

Her pockets are longer than her shorts.

Dat body language. It’s like she caught a whiff of dog shit. Betaboy doesn’t know it yet, but she checked out of their one-way playdate relationship long ago.

The story is here, in all its lurid, coalburning detail. I’m warning you so prepare yourself as you see fit. No matter what you tell yourself or others, the deepest recesses of your hindbrain will twitch in revolt. If you’re white. If you’re black, your heart will swell with tribal pride.

A white hottie with a soulless gaze cheated on her beta “””boyfriend””” (see above). And by cheated, I mean she triple lindied into a Rwandan pre-machete spree pep rally and had her clam shucked and pried by a diorama of dark continent dick. Pics and video and insta-taunting tell the tale. Rumor has it the video and pics didn’t catch all the action, and the full measure of her character was assessed by twelve mugging mandingos tickling the back of her throat.

I do enjoy a descriptive id punch.

[NB: She’s leaning poolside. Looks like she’s a product of a happy middle (upper middle?) class suburb. Witness born for those who want to insist race-crossing sluts are all low class land whales.]

As repulsive as is her self-mockumentary, what her sackless beta shitlapper borefriend did next was (if it’s possible) even more repugnant.

I’ll give you one guess what it was.

.

.

.

.

Drum pail, please….

He forgave his princess.

He forgave her after being subjected, no less, to a barrage of very personal muh dikking.

A man shames not just himself, but his male ancestors and male descendants, the whole lineage in a straight line from past to present to future, when he defends the honor of a dishonorable slattern. He betrays his close kin and extended race. He surrenders his dignity. He prostrates himself for a pence of peripatetic pussy. He is the human equivalent of shit speckle on a public toilet seat. I could carve a better man out of a banana.

Now, if the “””boyfriend””” had just said (in so many words), “Hey, I had my (weirdly platonic) fun with this discount bin whore, and now I’m cutting her loose based on the available evidence of her unsuitability as a long-term mate”, all would be forgiven of him. Her… not so much. But that is stain for another day.

Naturally, given that the attention whoring has grown beyond her limited means of message discipline, the party favor skank has tried to play the “I wuz drugged” get-out-of-slut-shame card, but no one is buying it. As well they shouldn’t. Post-cock rationalizations always carry a whiff of desperate image consultancy.

Where was her father in all this? Has he self-delivered in the aftermath, or did he essentially self-deliver from raising his daughter long ago? There are 99 ways a father can fail his children, but this way is FATHER FAIL numero uno. You’d have to be less than human to not feel the burn of shame if you were this father. Will he show his face in public again? Or doesn’t he care? Is this escapist self-annihilation — by both white father and white daughter — the new growth of an invasive society species that chokes to memetic death the value of fathers and the forward-thinking modesty of daughters?

The less judgmental among you could argue she and her pitifully loyal white knight lapdog and absentee father are sick in the head and deserve compassion. Maybe. But I tend to another hypothesis: What we see happening around us is the symptom of a society that has relinquished all controls over female sexual prerogatives. Female sexuality, when left unattended and free to do as it pleases, often travels into very dark and depraved cul de sacs, and can circle there for generations, creating a vortex that sucks in all civilized life to a pathetic and predictable doom.

Worse, this removal of restrictions on female sexuality has been accompanied by a perverse reaction in the opposite direction to confound men about the true reproductive nature of women. We see rising lockstep with rank sluts a hapless loser beta peasant class who are so ignorant of the masculine behaviors and vibe women crave that they meander helplessly through a sexual market minefield, bouncing bettys bouncing them from one bloody heartache to another. Repeated romantic failure inculcates in the young beta male’s mind a hopelessness that circumscribes his options well beyond what a realistic appraisal of his SMV would demand.

And so what we have here is what you see with this particular beta male… a stockholm syndrome-type of pathological clinginess that feeds on a feared lifelong incelibacy and is conditioned by this fear to rush to the defense of manipulative psychocunts who play ping pong with his blue balls while joyously gobbling the knobs of hooting ferals who live and die on liberating instinct.

***

Flyover naifs claim that plenty of “good girls” can be found. I’ve no doubt. I have lain with many good girls, and have nothing but the fondest memories (of memories made and memories in motion). But that is a non sequitur. The question isn’t whether there are good girls left in America — there are — but whether their numbers as a percentage of the whole are retreating. We have only our life experiences, anecdotes, and coldly sterile data to consult for answers. (Which normally is enough for examination of routine human behavior, but never is when we put the microscope to the monstrous vitals of the lust-fueled id.)

On the life experience and anecdote metrics, these sordid self-debasements of the slut-proud social media class seem to be increasing in frequency and dramatic flourish. Each week brings a romantic ignominy to top the previous week’s sexhibitionism. Girls raging gleefully at the dying light of patriarchal civilization; men raging impotently at the dying loins of their once virile majesty. One simply can’t help but notice change is a-blowin’ in the wind. And personally, I have accrued enough boudoir time with enough high society ladies to know that there is hardly a one — no matter her class, education, intellect, or family background — who doesn’t have clattering skeletons in her walk-in closet, and fewer still who aren’t practiced in the art of camouflaging otherwise.

(And bless their ladylike hearts for feeling the need to attempt the camouflage to appease my masculine prerogative. Truly.)

Data-wise, the evidence is murkier. GSS self-report surveys hint at a sexual cocooning strangely at odds with the growing portfolio of Facebooked frolicking. If true, it perhaps suggests less a hidden chasteness than a bifurcation in the sexual market, split between evangelical virgins and blue city girls gone wild.

The current CDC data veer more toward affirming the anecdotal, but there too the pussy picture is unclear. Some sexually transmitted diseases are on the rise, but teen sex is down (while teen pregnancy is up *head scratch*). Age of first sexual intercourse is up, but rates of throat and anal cancers in younger women are up as well. “Technical virgins”.

(Do white girls slot a 12-dick coal train into the “technical virgin” category? Kind of like how fucking a dog doesn’t really steal a girl’s virginity? It might explain a lot.)

It is as if two worlds — one a last stand by a besieged former empire, the other a new world disorder where chaos reigns supreme — are in our day locked in a death struggle for preeminence. And here we are, living it in technicolor splendor.

It shouldn’t bear repeating, but every time one of these slutbombs explode in the Chateau gardens, there are invariably “players” who chastise Your Unholy Greatness for his perceived judgmentalism and self-defeating yearning for a better past filled with better women.

Yes, reports tell of a past America that was better. Not better in every way, but better in the ways that mattered. And yes, I will admit to some giddy despair over the dissolution of a nation that no longer lays claim to my heart. But I also won’t look a gift ho in the mouth. If a cute girl makes it easy for me and wants to screw after ten minutes of meeting her, I won’t stop her. I won’t conspicuously judge her, either, except by the bewilderment and pain I plant in her when I prematurely recuse myself from her girlfriend expectations a few weeks (or months, if SMV is 7+) later.

The slut is souldead! God save the slut!

The slut is a useful tool. Great fun, great sex, horrible long-term investment. And that’s not just a gut feeling. The whitecoats confirm. There’s a sound evolutionary reason (white) men are attuned to signs of sluttitude and women are aggrieved by sluts in their midst.

And that’s really the crux of the whorecrux. A girl who surrenders her every orifice to a pack of howlhounds live-streaming for a studio audience the slow flaying of her soul will become the woman no worthy man will think twice about marrying. Her humiliation, so abject and complete and perfunctorily recorded for posterity, (though for now she only feels it in fleeting sensations on the back of her neck late at night through the self-medicating haze delivered in warm liquid doses by her muscly rationalization hamster), will render her utterly unmarriageable to the vast majority of quality men with options. This stone cold reality will make her life incalculably harder, and wrest an incalculable torrent of tears from her mother and an incalculable tribute of emotional withdrawal from her father.

A merciful god would find some way to attenuate their torment. God helps those who help themselves. (If by chance some cleansing… salvation… were to befall the family, it would serve a valuable lesson for the others.)

A father’s shame, more profound, maybe, than his daughter’s. Because what is a father’s mission critical job as regards his daughter? It’s to preserve his daughter’s honor and see her off into the world the kind of woman a good man would want to take up. A failure to complete this job discredits him as a father like few other failures can.

This is the normal state of affairs, and shame and guilt have evolved to ensure that civilized fathers and daughters comport themselves in line with the prevailing social norms. But shame is dead in the West, and guilt is following soon in its brother’s wake. Social norms divide and redivide like a multicellular demon embryo, partitioning into separate and competing camps unsurprisingly in line with the diversity of seed that contributed to the demon’s corrupted cuckolded conception. Le Chateau stands a citadel against the alien revocation of these timeless forces of civilization, and for that we are despised by the wayward and wanton. More deserving enemies we could not pray for.

These horror stories always remind me of a fitting song.

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Robin Williams Forced To Commit Suicide By Divorce Court System

What would a clickbait Chateau Heartiste be like? “Anonymous” comments,

If CH writes a post now with a title like “Robin Williams Forced to Commit Suicide by Divorce Court System” he can get a lot of traffic and extra fame. One thing I suspect happened is that the family courts of California ruled that Robin owed each ex-wife 5 figure alimony sums every month regardless of any drop in his earning power or desire to retire. But he was a liberal who supported that kind of system overall.

There is evidence that suicide risk has a genetic basis, however, like most genetically-influenced behaviors, strong environmental shocks can suppress or trigger the expression of the genes. In the case of Robin Williams, his two ex-wives were the environmental shocks that pushed him to a final solution.

Robin Williams will return to TV after nearly three decades – because two divorces have left him short of cash.

The comic’s breakups cost him £20million and he claims to need a ‘steady job’. He is also selling his £20million California ranch due to his sizeable alimony payments.[…]

The 62-year-old, said: ‘Divorce is expensive. I used to joke they were going to call it “all the money”, but they changed it to “alimony”.

It’s ripping your heart out through your wallet.’

There is no “rape culture” as deranged feminist cunts starved for male attention would want you to believe. Rape rates are at historical lows. There is a divorce rape culture, and it has amassed a pile of real victims far larger than criminally prosecuted rape has claimed. Men are literally killing themselves out of desperation once the divorce rape industrial complex has taken everything from them.

And I do mean “them”. Williams’ ex-wives had absolutely NOTHING to do with his talent, his drive, and his career success. Nothing. And yet with the sanction of the state they walk away with pieces of the man’s soul, leaving him pondering the escape of the rafter rope.

Marriage has never been a bigger sucker’s bet for men. Prenups are routinely shredded by lawyers and ignored by judges. The fix is in. The fundamental premise has been codified in law to the cheers of rabid feminists and solipsistic soccer moms and taken to its logical conclusion: Men are resource chattel, milked by a constabulary of strongmen to redistribute their earnings to an army of cackling divorcees.

If America is fated to be a post-Malthusian, r-selection reproductive free-for-all, then let it be in every way. That means, women are cut loose from the male alimony and child support teat to fend for themselves and accept the consequences of their decisions. Relying on men for support, pre- and post-marriage, is a luxury afforded K-selection societies, and that luxury comes with certain duties that modern women have largely chosen to abandon. If justice is fair and not wholly rigged against the interests of men, the divorce rape culture will be dismantled and an ex-husband’s life may be saved.

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The Working Woman’s New Master

The careerist shrike is emblematic of social dissolution and sexual market atavism. Yet women have historically worked in some capacity, whether that was at home or in the fields. It’s a rare culture where the average woman lounges around all day while men and hand maidens provide her an endless stream of creature comforts.

The difference in this iteration of decivilization is the nature of the work occupying the energies and time of “modern” Western women (who are better categorized as premodern women aping the sub-Sahara African style of year-round female farming self-sustenance). “Working” women existed throughout European history, but the substance of their work and, more importantly, the people for whom they worked were markedly different than what we have now, distilled to its rotten essence in the manjawed, pulsing forehead-veined, tankgrrl lawyercunt.

A reader writes,

You said that “women are happier when they abide traditional sex roles.” That is very true, but most people do not know what the role of women was in unadulterated European society. Below is a link to The Moneychanger and his Wife, painted in 1539.

Notice the wife is working with her husband by making entries into the accounting book. Wives were usually expected to work in whatever trade the husband’s was. For example, a farmer’s wife did farming. This also included military ranks, for example the wife of an army count was a countess. Robert E. Lee’s wife was called “Mrs. General Lee.”

The wife was there to help her husband with his trade. Help would consist of cooking and making clothes so to free up his time, then any other time would be to work in that trade. In European civilization a husband and wife were considered partners. Often married couples would be hired as opposed to individuals. Ever notice the Queen sat next to the King?

Good point. Historians in the CH audience can attest to how widespread was the practice of European partnership-style marriage, where the wife’s role was employee to her husband-boss.

What the reader describes is a superior form of social system that redirects the natural female (of which “wife” is a subset) hypergamous instinct toward, instead of against, her husband. The working European woman of 1539 was working for her husband. Her lover and her comfort and her family was also her boss. In this arrangement it would be hard for her not to look up to him, and to admire him, and this admiration would translate quite easily into happy sexual submission. Her instinctual compulsion to surrender to a better man would be sated, and her marriage would thus be stronger.

What we have today is that same working-woman hypergamy now directed to powerful men who are not her husband. The modern wife leaves the world of her husband every morning to submit to sexy male rulers presiding over the parallel world she inhabits during the day. She still has a boss, but it’s no longer her husband. The temptation for her to cheat, either bodily or in mind, must be great. The male equivalent would be as if dutiful husbands were catered to on the job by a steady stream of swimsuit models. Even the firmest virtue will bend to perpetual succulent vice.

This is why I argue that feminist-inspired, female-aggrandizing public policies should be repealed. “Pro-woman” (aka pro-r-selection) policies like Title IX and mandated maternity leave create perverse incentives for a sub-Saharan female-forager style social system that channels natural female hypergamy toward company men and away from family men. Men — particularly men with little experience bedding women — have a hard time understanding this primal craving of women for higher status mates, because men don’t give a fig about female status. To help focus minds, recall what you as a man feel when a beautiful young woman poured into a slinky cocktail dress sits close to you and smiles. That’s what women feel in the presence of powerful male bosses commanding them to do their bidding.

Starting to feel a little nervous kissing your wife goodbye as she heads to work in the morning? You should. She’s doing something that most of her female ancestors never did.

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The End Game Of The Matriarchy

The Patriarchy is dead. God save the Patriarchy!

In the archives are CH posts about feminist utopias, how they would manifest and the signs that America is becoming a version of one.

If the lesson wasn’t yet clear, matriarchies suck. Historically and present-day, matriarchies (or facsimiles thereof) are associated with poverty, disease, violence and navel-gazing decline. Where a matriarchy is evolving, a civilization is devolving.

Here’s Exhibit M as evidence that we in the US may have crossed a matriarchal Rubicon (Boobicon?):

What used to be underground — gigolos, minus the tacit sex — has gone mainstream. A start-up is offering women their very own personal “ManServant“, or what we in the seduction domculture call “beta male orbiters”, “white knights” and “incels“.

It’s not a stripper who gets naked and rubs his greasy body all over you. It’s a ManServant: a gentleman who treats you like a queen. Book one for a bachelorette party or any gathering to be your personal photographer, bartender, bodyguard, and butler all in one.

How is a ManServant addressed?

A ManServant will answer to the name you’ve bestowed upon him, whether it’s Garçon, Bartholomew, or Ryan Gosling. [ed: John Scalzi and David Fatrelle were taken.]

What is a ManServant’s code of conduct?

A ManServant always responds with “As you wish.”

A ManServant shall address clientele with “My lady.”

A ManServant keeps his penis in his pants and out of the lady’s face.

The Rules to being a ManServant: The lady always makes The Rules.

What are some of the ManServant’s duties?

Takes photos.

Gives round-the-clock compliments.

Cleans up your hot mess.

Going to a ballgame? He’ll be your sports announcer, wait in line for the restroom, and get your hot dogs.

At the club, he’ll act as your bodyguard: secure drinks, shoo away douchebags, and drop off or pick you up curbside.

If it weren’t so ominous it’d be funny.

Naturally, women have to pay for these services, which is telling in itself. Women don’t value men for their penii or sexual prowess. What women value is what women will pay for, and that is male commitment, provisioning, and emotional support.

Just as naturally, real life ManServants get no nookie, because what comforts women in their moments of social need is not the same as what excites them in their moments of sexual need.

ManServitude is just about the end game of the feminist matriarchy. Strip men of all offensive male sexuality — essentially create a kneeling army of eunuchs — and set them loose upon the land to take photos of attention whores and cockblock men with dignity and a working pair.

How soon until ManServitude moves from plucky business venture to accepted cultural practice to legally enforced Damegeld?

Recall CH’s maxim about the true nature of feminism (and, related, the true nature of equalism):

The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

Welcome to AndrogyNation. Where the women are pushed to be men and the men are happy to be women.

I talk a fair bit about the decline of America, but theatrical aplomb aside I never seriously entertained the thought that the collapse of my country would happen within my lifetime. Now I’ve begun to wonder.

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The Value Of White American Men In The Overseas Sexual Market

The sexual market is not unlike the stock market; information bottlenecks are exploited by insiders for fun and profit. One such bottleneck is the value of white American men in foreign sexual markets. Because a man’s SMV is more contextual than a woman’s SMV, and because men’s romantic attractiveness is dependent upon multiple variables, including non-physical ones such as social status and charisma, it can be expected that a man will have different value to women in different parts of the world. Where his value is relatively highest is where he has the best chance of making sweet love to beautiful women.

MindFucked (priceless handle) performed an experiment to determine his value to the Unpolluted (non-American women).

Want hard evidence on your SMV in different countries around the world? Want to see what women in different countries REALLY look like and practice text game with them? Want to become even more disgusted with American women? Maybe you’re making a trip in a couple weeks and want to prep the field so you have willing sex partners as soon as you arrive.

Download a smartphone emulator. Bluestacks is my favorite. When you’re running it, go to the app store and download Tinder (the smartphone dating app) and a fake GPS application which will allow you to trick Tinder into thinking you’re anywhere in the world.

Put up a few photos of yourself, start swiping right, and wait for the results to pour in.

If you’re a white man, try doing this in Asia. It’s truly hilarious. China blocks Tinder so it doesn’t work there, but it works in every other Asian country.

While I can neither confirm nor deny if I’ve been to Moscow, reports from fellow world travelers give credence to the rumors: There is so much pulchritudinous street-strutting there that an American man unused to it will have his heart melt and crotch explode. And yet, vanishingly few American men trek to this magical Vaghalla. Why?

If this GPS-spoofing Tinder trick to gauge overseas female interest is revealing a huge pent-up demand for white American men in Eurasia, and the quality on offer in those faraway lands puts to shame America’s snotty, classless chubsters, then why aren’t more men moving to where the ass is leaner? Homo economicus is baffled.

Human nature is a tricky dick. Simple inertia explains a lot of inefficiencies in the sexual market. Most people prefer to envy good fortune from their couches than to move to where good fortune is within reach. Self-doubt explains more. American men might not believe they have a shot with beautiful foreign women because they are negatively conditioned by their effortful experiences with uninspiring American shrikes. They lack imagination.

Then, too, there is an innate desire, to greater or lesser intensity in each person, for a connection to blood and soil and kin. Our American women might be fat, entitled and unfeminine, but goddammit they’re *our* women.

Finally, we shouldn’t neglect the possibility that there are inherited ethnic dispositions towards one’s own representative women. Some white American men won’t find Asian girls, even the universally attractive ones who adhere to the golden ratio, very desirable. Russian girls, despite their legendary beauty, do tend to sport distinctive jutting chins, chiclet teeth, and broad faces that may not appeal to non-Russian whites.

I believe the reasons above, plus travel costs and unawareness of better options, account for most of the sexual market inefficiency in pairing up valuable white American men with pretty foreign girls who want them. For those waiting for the lid to blow off this underserved market, you’ll be waiting a long time.

Expat Americans like Roosh catch a lot of flack from envious haters, who smear his motives as those of a “sex tourist” who must “go overseas to score desperate peasant pussy”. But, what Roosh has done is what entrepreneurs throughout American history have done: Read the teat leaves, smartly calculate what’s in his best interest, take a huge risk, and create new markets that redound to his broadest (heh) advantage. How many American men have the cohones to uproot themselves and plant a flag in a strange land for a shot at a brighter life? It’s something white Europeans used to do all the time, and were proud of it.

The hate felt toward guys like Roosh is percolating envy, but it’s also something else: People hate reminders of their cowardice. Cowardice, perhaps, is the fundamental motivation that permits the continuance of this particular sexual market inefficiency.

The upscale demand is there, White American Man. Will you fill it?

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The Punchable Fat White Liberal Face

Liberals are gloating over the recent editorial choices to geld Thor and race cuck Captain America. The former will become Whor, the female Thor, and the latter will become Captain Gibsmedat, the numinous negro who saves the right kinds of white people from the wrong kinds of white people.

I kid, I kid… you not. The last time I read a comic I was 7. I don’t get the appeal of the genre to grown men with, presumably, descended testes. Nevertheless, the anti-white male animus driving these character changes that have shocked and delighted and stirred the quivering anuses of the comic book reading community are yet one more telling detail of America’s decline.

The decline is in the details.

One common thread to most of these anti-white male insurgencies is the cast of goons and misfits running the show into the ground. Take a look at this face shot of the fat white liberal quasi-male named Devin Faraci, who dribbled a premenstrual snarkstain titled “Sorry White People, Captain America is Black Now.”

Hat tip, League of Extraordinary Sadists.

The fat white liberal face is archetypal. These race traitors all have a “look”, don’t they? Genetics, perhaps, or just a lifetime spent wiping orange Cheetostaches off their porcine mugs. Look at that faggot. He could double as an old lesbian halfway through her hormonal replacement therapy. If ever a face looked as if it was born to have a fist buried in it, Faraci has it.

The anti-white liberal white male is the most loathsome of creatures. More despicable than the minorities he jerks off to, because he fulminates a credo at 180 degree odds with his chosen lifestyle for status whoring feels. Hypocritical, smug, and you just know the first to run from a fight, gathering his skirt up and shrieking like a little girl.

I wonder about the demographics of this pigman’s neighborhood? Anyone care to investigate? I might put up a post in future called “The Leftoid List”, with the names of infamous anti-white leftoid equalist turds juxtaposed with the race demographics of their immediate neighborhoods. Should be illuminating.

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The Unhappy Woman Is A Feminist Archetype

A survey of 670 North American white collar workers revealed who is the unhappiest (and happiest) of them all.

According to the survey, the happiest workers are:

• Male
• 39 years old
• Married
• Have a household income between $150,000 and $200,000
• Hold a senior management position
• Have one young child at home
• Have a wife who works part-time

while the unhappiest workers are:

• Female
• 42 years old
• Unmarried
• Have a household income under $100,000
• Work in a professional position (i.e., as a doctor or a lawyer).

What we have here… is failure to assimilate to the feminist utopia. Some women you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here these past 60 years, which is the way ugly bitter feminists want it… well, they get it. Careerist gogrrl spinsters who go to sleep and wake every morning with a shiver of doom running down their necks. Unhappy 130IQ cat ladies as far as the eye can see, staining their graduate degrees with hot tears.

I don’t like it any more than you men, but I will leverage it for my personal gain.

Blame flies in all directions, but the most obvious one. The Bitches of Feastdick whine that their feminist droids are unhappy because men aren’t picking up the slack in the domestic sphere. Androgyne, Inc. stockholders say that women worry more about the home life and we need to help them worry less by mandating various stay-at-office motherhood initiatives, like on-site daycare.

They flail and they flog their plush lush lies that protect them from the stone cold truth… the truth that is incontestable and harmonious and rooted in eons of evolutionary blueprint:

Men and women are happier when they abide traditional sex roles.

Reject biology, feel unhappy. It’s that simple. Work within the contours of your sex’s biology, and you will feel like a finely tuned instrument discarding cacophony and alighting upon melodious serenity.

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