Archive for the ‘Dating’ Category

Recovering Beta has what I consider an important Game-related question about girlfriend management.

Need game advice guys!

If a girl you been seeing starts to lose respect for you.

Do you call her out and say: “- I feel that I don’t get the respect and admiration from you and its a big turn off for me”

jfc no. Pity ploys never work unless you’re a rape-y syrian refugee. That’ll only earn her growing contempt.

…or something like “- Cut that shit off right now. I need respect from you or its over”?

The first half of this response is good. But you should’ve stopped there. When you spell out the reason for your demand, it loses potency. Telling a girl you “need respect” is borderline mewling. If you have to ask for it, you don’t deserve it, and you’re not getting it.

Because I believe respect is something a guy earns, not demand and calling a girl out on this may even make her feel even less respectful for you.
Because I just admitted to her that she is losing respect for me, something she might even noticed herself.

What to do?

Exactly, you verbalized the reality of her disrespect, validating it in her mind. Instead of causing her to reconsider treating you shittily, she’ll double down in the reconfirmed belief that you’re not worth her feminine respect.

What you should do is call her out when she disrespects you, but without airing demands for more “respect” that you feel you “aren’t getting”, which will almost always sound like the butthurt pleas of a lower value man. Just tell her to cut the bullshit, and if she keeps it up, kick her out (or kick yourself out).

If she’s disrespecting you as a shit test of your character because you’ve acted too beta of late for her taste, then slapping her with the verbal pimp hand and walking out if she doesn’t comply will encourage her to reassess your alpha cred, and she’ll likely come back to you full of apology and begging for a reconciliation bang.

If, otoh, she’s disrespecting you because she has lost that loving feeling and is just fishing for a way out, then walking yourself out of her life will give her the denouement she wants while preserving your masculine dignity. Either way, you win.

This is the short-term solution. Long-term, you’ll want to apply some patented CH Dread Game to permanently reorient her behavior towards a more respectful tone. There are only so many times you can tell a girl to cut the shit before her excessive need to be dominated and told to shut up soils your spirit. You want to avoid girls who incessantly crave their disciplining; this is the kind of shrew who will cheat the moment you slip up and forget to administer her daily ration of taming.

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Besides the sagging tits and wrinkling skin, there’s a good reason men of taste and sophistication who are looking to settle down spurn older women for the pleasure of younger women. DoBA writes,

In short, if you’re thinking about getting married, really think about what you’re doing. As someone who is divorced, I would say that you have to get in on the GROUND LEVEL with women. Once they’re about 33-34, you don’t know where the hell they’ve been and their anger toward men or neurosis about them will likely be taken out on YOU. From what I see, the best marriages are when the couples meet in high school or college.

That last paragraph is gold plated good advice. Single women get bitter and spiteful with age in a way that men don’t, because every added cock scours a woman’s soul while every added pussy gilds a man’s soul. Bad relationship experiences accumulating over the years can potentially embitter both men and women, but men in my observation, when they bounce back, are more seamlessly able to reconstitute a loving relationship with a new woman minus the emotional baggage of past women who left them with foul memories. In contrast, women who have run through failed relationships tend to dump increasingly heavy loads of baggage on their new men.

The Ground Floor Girl is another term for the “marriage material girl”, or the “wife and mother of my future children girl”. (In the meme scene, she is called the tradwife.) She is many different women, but the defining characteristic all GFGs share is youth and romantic innocence. You can get lucky meeting an older woman who has managed to retain her whimsy and untainted love of men, but that’s not the way to bet.

tl;dr: younger women >>> older women.


If you need the recap, the present configuration of the Western sexual market is despoiling and shrinking the pool of available Ground Floor Girls. Marriage rate is down, age of first marriage is up, and though I couldn’t find the data I’d be surprised if marriage counseling hours and clients as a share of total marriages isn’t up as well.

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A comment by Greg Eliot (a longtime valued contributor to this fappy forum) spurred me to write a bit about tradcons and their discomfort with female sexuality. He wrote,

CH: And, yes, seducing and fucking a cute girl on the same night you meet her [is one of a man’s greatest pleasures in life].

Especially when she’s “never done this with anyone else”.


Get real, gentlemen… any girl who bangs on the first date is more a petrie dish than LTR material.

And if you’re out looking for a quick bang… and not a woman who you’d trust as a mother to your children and a true helpmeet, then you’re just a muh-dik no-account who deserves whatever physical and/or emotional ailments you get from those types of women.

And this is why we lose.

This world ain’t no Ian Flemming novel, and you ain’t no James Bond.

I’m not saying Greg is a tradcon, but his comment is emblematic of so many tradcon howls of spite for men who have a way with women and for the women who let those men have their way. So his idburst gives me a springboard to write a rebuttal I’ve been meaning to for a while addressing the typical smears that tradcons keep in their rhetoric rucksack.

I’m not talking about marrying one night stands. Sure, a man should think twice about wifing up a girl he plowed the same night she twatted him a come hither eyeplay twitter. But there’s room in a man’s life for one night stands as well as for marriage, should he decide nuptial chains slip easily on his scrote. The one does not preclude the other. In fact, I’d argue a man is best positioned to choose a bride-to-be if he has some experience dealing with women’s emotional landscape both before and after sex. The best defense is a good offense.

To my points.

  1. Not every girl who has premarital sex is a slut. If that’s the standard for sluttery, you may as well give up finding a wife in the world we inhabit right now.
  2. Experienced men have a honed sense of which girls are slutty and which are chaste. It’s not that hard to know if a one night stand is a cock carousel veteran or an innocent naif caught up for the first or second time in her life in the heat of the moment (generated by your superb seductive prowess, of course). So just saying you’ve had a one night stand is not incontrovertible evidence that you banged a slut.
  3. The petrie dish metaphor is indicative of a favorite myth of tradcons that cutie patootie sluts sleep with any man who will have them. No, that would be fatties and Wall-imminent cougars. Prime nubility sluts are just as discriminating as damsels; that is, sluts prefer the company of the same alpha males who inspire a quaking of the mons in damsels. Beta males are still left out in the cold. Which means you are gonna need skillz to bang sluts, and perhaps even sharper skillz than you would need to bang damsels considering that sluts are masters of shit testing. The difference between sluts and damsels is one of impulsivity and to a lesser extent of quantity. Sluts jump into bed quicker and make more rounds sharing the tiny pool of acceptable alpha males.
  4. If you are dominant and sexy and charming as fuck, you can make any girl LTR material. It may be a more efficient use of your time and energy to screen for LTR material from the get-go if that’s your quest, but even the sluts will bend the knees to a man of incomparable HSMV.
  5. Whether mounting slut or damsel, one night stands will make a man feel like a king, as long as his conquest is a verifiable hottie. If he has a ONS with a grotesquerie, he will experience the Walk of Self-Abasement and avoid looking any women in the eyes for a month lest they sense the tunastank on him.
  6. Addendum to #5: Any man with a robust ledger of cuntquests to his name will know very early on in the evening if the girl he is seducing is a no muss no fuss slut or a hard-to-whet modest mouse. This means that really good players often deliberately seek out more challenging girls because they know that the afterglow of despoiling a low cock count coygirl shines so much brighter than it would emptied into the dark ravine of a slut’s war-torn womb. Be careful tradcons; that womanizer you accuse of banging bar skanks may be the one who cut his ONS chops on your tradwife before she lost her taste for fun and met you.

On a conciliatory note, Greg and his genre of female sexuality spiters aren’t totally off-base about the slut life. While not a guarantee of a girl’s sluttery, a predilection for one night stands is a leading indicator. And though it’s hard to find chaste women in 2017 (as measured against historical chasteness standards), it nevertheless remains true that even one additional partner over the bare minimum greatly increases a women’s risk of marital infidelity. Therefore, all things considered and all nuts busted, tradcons have their hearts in the right place when they advise men looking for wife and mother candidates to be wary of investing in a property that is trespassed without a preliminary scouting expedition.

Bottom line: If you fall in love with a ONS, and forever dangles on the edge of your dreamy thoughts, best give that gril a few extra months or years of up close premarital personal assessment. If she’s truly a natural born slut, you’ll see the signs long before she hears the wedding lines.

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A very powerful feeling for a man is walking out on a date because the girl dissatisfied him with her opinions or behavior.
Very few men do this.
More men should.
It’s exhilarating and builds masculine character, which has positive knock on effects for other girls he dates.

Male choosiness — and the associated behavior that naturally emerges from it — is a male SMV amplifier. Men who express a refined, discriminating taste in women, and an exquisite discernment of which women qualify for the pleasure of his company, are adored by women because choosy men have an aura of preselection. The choosy man becomes the chased, rather than the chaser.

It’s a lot easier to call the shots and direct the tempo when you’re the one being chased.

Adhering to exacting standards in women is a strong signal of attractiveness to women, given that women will assume, usually rightly, that a man willing to cavalierly reject potential mates is a man who has many other women in his queue. He is therefore “that guy* aka the alpha male of women’s dreams.

Then there is the rarity and unpredictability of male choosiness. When the average woman can go years, or even a lifetime, without suffering the indignity of a man walking out on her during a date for failing to meet his expectations in feminine demeanor, the rare man who pulls off the feat will seem a Golden God to her. She will invest so much dreamscape energy into wondering why he rejected her and what he has going on for himself that she’ll gasp with sudden and self-conscious arousal if she sees him crossing the street months later.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the choosy man enriches an inner reservoir of self-entitlement and self-confidence that is absolutely thrilling to women. Try it sometime. If you date enough women, you will inevitably come across an ur-cunt. You know the type; she stares at her phone during the date, hassles the wait staff, and talks about her exes, all the while demanding to know in so many words what you have to offer to her.

The mediocre masses of beta males would just grin and bear it, hoping their awful date has a last minute change of heart when her nasty woman turns into a sex goddess and ends the beta’s night on a thigh note. That never happens for the beta, but still…beta persisted.

The triumph of hope over experience is the beta male’s epitaph.

Instead of slip-streaming into the void of faceless nutless beta males that women treat with the same consideration they do houseplants, be one of those exciting jerkboys who prematurely deep sixes a date when the girl is cunting out. I promise, she’ll never forget you after that. I also promise that you’ll feel an incomparable rush of power. This is your mind-body axis telling you that what you did will ricochet to your reproductive fitness benefit in the future with other girls.

That glow of power is unmistakable to you, and it’s acutely perceptible to women, who have evolved a sensitive limbic radar for picking up cues of dominance and power and mastery in men.

PS Here’s Ryan Reynolds’ with the solid photoneg.

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I’ll make the brief case here that the cuntventional wisdom is wrong about porn. It doesn’t raise men’s standards in real life women by visually and orgasmically acclimating them to hotter women; it lowers men’s standards by supplying an outlet of multiple hot digiwomen into which men spill their vitality and leaves them unmotivated to spend any energy acquiring a sole fleshwoman of impeccable femininity.

Porn probably raises the aggregate beta male thirst, and probably also raises the aggregate beta male disgust threshold for acceptable mates. (The higher your disgust threshold, the more you can tolerate a disgusting presence in your life.)

The old feminist-inspired argument goes like this:

Man watches porn featuring slender babes catering to his fantasies. This adjusts his expectations upward for real life women, because he can now only get off to women who are as hot and sexually voracious as his Redtube Lovers. He drops out of the dating market dissatisfied with the IRL heifers available to him.

Sounds plausible, but it’s (mostly) wrong.

The new and improved Chateau argument:

Man watches porn featuring slender babes catering to his fantasies. This reduces his urgency to find a sexy real life lover, an urgency which he would normally feel absent the steady stimulus of porn. Blue balls and T build-up that would occur in a pre-online porn environment act together to focus and energize a man’s sexual standards, because he’s not going to blow his one chance for sexual relief on a heifer or bitterbitch feminist. So he hunts for prime pussy with a starving man’s clarity of vision and intensity of purpose. But the porn-saturated man has lost that clarity of the hunt, and, depleted of his T, settles into a low energy, passion-less relationship of convenience with whatever skank or cow roams into his field of view. Or, if cowfraus are his only option and he has a shred of dignity left, he’ll commit to a lifetime stay in his masturbatorium.

This therefore is the negative double-whammy of widespread, cheap, easily available, hardcore online porn on the healthy functioning of the sexual market:

Porn simultaneously increases sloppy beta male thirst and decreases beta male standards.

The downstream effects of porn are notoriously bad for lovers of feminine Beauty: recklessly insincere beta male thirst bloats the egos of an ever-expanding horde of self-entitled fatties and sluts, and loose beta male standards discourages fatties, fugs, and unfeminine skanks from making themselves more pleasing to men.

Porn is beta malaise. Betalaise. The lethargy of body, mind, and spirit that porn induces in men, but especially in beta males who don’t have regular access to 3D hot babes and must live with the dreary knowledge that their pornlife is less a complement to an active dating life than it is a necessary substitute, dulls their seductive allure, atrophies their courtship skills, and weakens their internal drive to win the love of a sexy hot girl. The pornfed soyboy is content hitching his rickety pisswagon to an unfeminine careerist shrike or gargantuan blob because his porn habit rescues him from abject sexual starvation and the motivation to fill his ballbelly.

Delivered from the brink of sexual starvation by the drip drip of pornified dopamine hits, the betalaise sufferer misses out on the starvation-induced mental energy and clarity that would suffuse his loinsoul and push him inexorably towards conquest of a worthy woman. His hunger thus partly sated by porn, he surrenders his day-to0-day public existence to the passion-free comforts of a sluggish, insensate coupling with an uninspiring unwoman who is easy to keep around and who will by her dull presence slap his life story with the imprimatur of bourgeois respectability.

Related concept: Hormesis.

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It’s reasonable to assume porn slakes beta male thirst. The more betas get their rocks off online, the less motivated they’ll be to effortcourt live girls. A spent and sated man should, given this simple formula, behave less needfully in the company of women. His ZFG heartlight will shine, and he’ll never thirst for female attention.

Generally, this is true, but on the condition that the satiety comes in the form of real sex. Porn, as a simulacrum of real sex, may paradoxically have the opposite effect on a man’s thirstiness. Richard James explains,

Video games and porn are part of the problem. Character comes from working or waiting for whatever it is you want and I would say the broadest weakest of western man is a lack of patience. Being instantly gratified causes people to behave more desperately I’ve seen a man lose his rag at a microwaveable meal taking a whole 6 minutes. First world problems.

In addition to that the old workhorse can’t have a decent house, a job for life and a loyal wife with only one string to his bow. The one-dimensional, the aspie and the bland all lose to the multi-faceted modern man with his many irons in the fire.

RJ gets at something profound here. The instant gratification that porn provides is definitely part of the beta thirst equation, but it goes deeper and broader than that. I’d say the relevant variables are:

instant gratification
uninspiring real life options (compared to porn stars who can’t say no to betas)
diminished admiration for women (the red pill is a bitter swallow)
atrophied seduction skills
reinforced feelings of sexual worthlessness

Those last two imo are the biggest contributors to beta male thirst. Unzipping, gripping, and jizzing, all in a three minute window, destroys a man’s motivation to learn and practice the art of seduction (a much slower process than porn-facilitated release, even under the exceptionally favorable circumstances of perfectly run Mystery-style Game that takes a girl from meet to meat in seven hours). Over time, the porn-addled beta male’s seduction skills will atrophy, to the point where he’ll blurt out thirsty solicitations such as “god yr so hot, I would treat u like a queen”. Men who have dropped vats of seed to porn will inevitably get sloppy in their real life pick up attempts, because they will have been drained of the vital masculine elixir that drives them to excel at the pursuit of women and to sharpen their bantz to be more alluring to women. (Think of Idiocracy, except as a warning on sexual dysgenics rather than intellectual dysgenics. Porn decreases the average seduction IQ of its male users. Call it Creepocracy.)

The last one — feelings of sexual worthlessness — is the rocket fuel of thirst. Porn tricks the brain into thinking the body has scored a hot willing chick up for anything in the bedroom, and dopamine hits follow in staccato bursts. But the brain is not so thoroughly fooled for long. The Darwinian imperative has inserted mal-aware into the limbic code that activates when the reproductive fitness algorithm senses the reward circuitry is connected to a chafed hand rather than a moist vagina. A subconscious ping of despair accompanies the fap act, and the beta can’t help but over time feel sexually worthless, knowing as he must that his recourse to porn strongly suggests he has failed at acquiring the real deal.

To answer the title of this post, porn exacerbates beta male thirst. Porn whittles a man’s courtship skill, and porn reduces a man’s feeling of sexual worth. The two factors combine with an unregulated sexual market teeming with delusional, entitled fat girls and unfeminine careerist shrikes to create a beta and omega male Thirst Monster that has neither the inclination nor the emotional continence to avoid thirsty displays of low sexual market value.

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You are about to enter another dimension of the sexual market. A dimension not only of unsightly fat and scolding schoolmarmery, but of repulsive loudmouthed bitterbitches. A journey into a worthless land of self-entitled fat Hillary-loving bitches. Next stop, the Would Not Bang Zone!

Via AutoAdmit, a gem quality thread has coalesced around the story of a fat chick in DC — Jesse Peterson — who was the featured coastal shitlibopolis representative of her swelling species in a Bezos Post Date Lab social experiment designed to prove the pointlessness of pursuing the post-femininity American cow. A couple of AAers put it best,

Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:04 AM
Author: Ozzie Canseco

its incredible how women are all converging to this one horrible personality.


Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:06 AM
Author: LTDanCaffey

It’s like all single shrews in major metros are morphing into some hybrid of Sarah Jessica Parker in SitC and the shrew from Eat, Pray, Fuck with some Beyoncé girl power mixed in.

A little background on Jesse, emeritus rider of the cock carousel, courtesy of her About page at her dating blog (aka the place she collates the wretchedness of her personality and will come to regret when she’s 40, unmarried, and sleeping with a small army of cats nestled in her gut folds):

Hey betches,

Welcome to Tinder District! I’m so glad you’re here, even though you may not be able to tell through my chronic RBF.

Afeminine? Check.

My name is J. I’m 23 years old, live in Washington, DC, and by day I do management consulting.

Anti-natalist careercunt? Check.

By night (and weekend), however, I’m a serial dater.

Slut, or pretensions to sluttery? Check.

Since I started this blog in July 2015 (when it was ClarendonTinderDiaries.wordpress.com; really rolls of the tongue, right?),

Grandiose self-conception as a dazzling prose stylist belied by horribly dull writing? Check.

I have been on over 100 first dates.

Unloveable? Check.

Two have turned into relationships (thank God those went nowhere),

Allergic to accountability for her decisions? Check.

many were good, several turned into second and even third dates – but that’s not why I’m here. The thing that keeps me coming back is the bad dates – the ones that turn into a story for me to tell my close friends, future grandchildren, and the entire Internet.

Attention whore? Check.

Oh, and the free drinks and meals. Those also keep me coming back.

Low sexual market value chick unable to date anyone but supplicating beta males who eagerly foot her bill for a chance to pork her oinky trough? Check.

So, welcome, readers! I hope you get a laugh, a nugget of useful life advice, or something new to read while at work contemplating quitting your shitty job.


And a recent photo of Jesse, for context in which to place her empty try-hard braggadocio:

She’s a 5 without the insulating layer of blubber, a 2 with it.

Sadly, Jesse is not an outlier. The shitlib cities are filled with CUNDTs like herself: totally converged into the technofemcuntyassqueen man-hating spiteborg, committed to spending their prime nubility years hunting elusive alpha males in the urban junglelove, narcissistic to a degree that would have shocked Narcissus, delusional about their sexual and romantic appeal, and more often than not carrying an extra five or fifty pounds.

Is it any wonder American men have stopped “manning up” and taken nuptial (read: financial) responsibility for these ingrate shoggoths? Women, if you struggle to find a man worthy of your curated and well-marbled self-image, look in the mirror and read the reactions of the world outside your dating blog to your crass behavior and shitty personality. 100 dates in one year? That’s not a banner to wave proudly; it’s a red flag that your goods are rotten.

How obnoxious is this bitch? From her Instawhore:

In her words, she had an awful date and hated the man with whom she was paired, yet she still wanted to exploit his graciousness by copping an “appeal deal” with him to rate each other equivalently in the Bezos Post-Op Date Lab story, so that she could continue to look good to her blog audience of aspiring spinsters. Thankfully, our intrepid beta male found an ounce of scrotal juice still circulating in his manhood and rated her lower than the entitled blobster demanded to be rated.

Management consultant Jesse Peterson, 23, describes herself as “just about the friendliest and most outgoing person there is.”

So friendly she hastily pens post-date snarkbait shitting all over the men who buy her drinks.

She also loves working out, bottomless brunch and a slightly dark sense of humor.

Working out => is 40 pounds overweight
Bottomless brunch => boundless bottom
Dark sense of humor => confuses hackneyed sarcasm for humor

I was much more nervous before this date than any Bumble or Tinder date. I’ve been on dates with a few Dans, and all of them were weird.

The fault lies not with the Dans.

We talked about favorite foods — I write a cooking and baking blog.

Avoid unmarried women who are a little too into cooking. That goes double-chinned for women into blogging about cooking.

And I write a dating blog.

If a chick admitted this to me on a first date, I would walk out immediately, no reason given. At the very least, a chick who feels comfortable telling me this doesn’t respect my refined taste in women and unapologetically high standards.

I’m just interested in exploring people and opportunities and dating culture.

Every girl who has told me she’s into “exploring people” was really into exploring herself for the umpteenth time and receiving external validation for it from the people she claims to want to explore. And “opportunities” is just slutspeak for “cockas”.

Dan: I can’t date a vegetarian; I left hungry. I got home and I ordered a turkey leg.

Vegetarian girls are more often fat than thin. That should tell them something, but when the world revolves around them and mirrors are magical devices found only in Harry Potter books, then one could be forgiven for assuming these broads have an intrinsic ability to put 2 and 2 together. Or maybe their concept of vegetarian is “a plate full of greasy fries and a side of pizza”.

I’m not ready for the gawking to end yet. From another dating-is-hell-on-fatties post at her Unloved Fatty blog:

I didn’t particularly care about continuing to talk to Jack, and I also ignore literally all CMB notifications I receive, so I did nothing.

The attention whore loves accumulating dating apps, so she can proudly claim she ignores them all. It would not suffice to simply not have the dating app on the iPhag. She must have it and not have it, grasshopper.

Jack, however, reached out.

“Men want me, they really want me!”

Jack – Want to get margaritas soon?
J – Sure!

So, I sent him my phone number – because anyone who wants to buy me a margarita is a friend of mine.

From its inception, CH has advised men to avoid buying drinks for women. To this day, the advice retains its merit.

It was two full days before I got a message from Jack, but he made up for his tardiness with sweeping romantic apology.
Jack – Hey, this is Jack from that bagel app

Ahh, pure poetry.

Got her attention. (Keep it short and sweet, gentlemen. The ladies love a self-possessed shitlord.)

FYI her blog is filled with those retarded pop culture gifs that women love. They acquire the habit from their gay besties.

We continued talking for a while, including a brief stint in which my friend took over my phone and sent him a long message about the superfood benefits of kale (#bless kale), when our conversation turned to the events we had planned for the weekend.

From the second I saw the ‘Yikes’ I knew something was amiss. But I was unsure what it was at first – did he frown upon the fact that I had not left all signs of neon and tutu back in college? Was he unnerved that I was not spending the weekend reading the latest political novel?

Like most straight men with a T level above 1, he’s disgusted by homosex and by the sassy platitude-spouting libchicks who latch onto the gay glorification gravy train in the hopes of tarting up their social media feeds with more colorful selfies.

All of that would have been better than his response. What do you mean you find it “off-putting”? You are aware you live in a country founded on the right to do all of those things, correct?

“Off-putting” doesn’t mean “deny the right of fag assembly”, you dumb bint.

I pressed on.

She persisted.

Ohhhhhhhh no. OH NO. I considered leaping off the nearest cliff to escape such ignorance.

She would’ve bounced back unscathed.

“inside a social construct decided by other people that doesn’t let you blah blah”…..typical poopytalk from your typical nasty woman. This is why fatties and other undesirable women glom onto social constructivist shitliberalism: the lies provide a handy rationale for explaining away, say, their lack of portion control. The CUNDT’s dating woes are never her fault; it’s always “men” or “douchebags” or “bigots” or “Trump supporters” or “society”.

She then feverishly texts Jack the Shitlord to “put him in his place”, and what she imagines as an epic BTFO of her antagonist just comes across like a butthurt fatty going well out of her way to make some stupid political point lost in the noise of her emotional incontinence.





Was Trayvon Martin ‘playing the victim’ when he was killed in an ethnic hate crime?

Surprise, a conformist GoodWhite plays the Saint Trayvon card! Newsflash, fatty, Trayvon pounced on Zimmerman the Hispanic hero and in the commission of his assault and battery received a load of lead in return. Tray Tray got his just desserts.

Were the 49 lives lost in the Orlando Pulse Nightclub massacre ‘playing the victim’ when their lives were unjustly ripped from them in a homophobic hate crime?

Funny, she forgot to mention that the Pulse gayclub killer was a Muslim.

Was I, or any other victim of sexual assault, PLAYING THE FUCKING VICTIM when we were raped, had our self-worth and self-confidence, not to mention ability to trust and, I don’t know, ability to sleep through the night without having a panic attack, STRIPPED FROM US BY A MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW HOW TO TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER?

Ten to one she was never raped.
One hundred to one if she was raped, it was by a black guy.
One thousand to one her conception of “rape” is really an ego-assuaging morning after regret rape rationalization for throwing herself at yet another garbage hour loser.

I was outraged. I would have killed him right then, if my insurance covered it.

The only thing you’re killing fatty is a plate of donuts.

Instead, I put him on blast in the betchiest way I know how

Shitlib women crave putting wrongthinkers “on blast”, and announcing their declared victory in war to whomever will listen. They’re like George Costanza thinking up a comeback zinger well after the moment has passed. It’s pure humiliation gotcha fantasy, a pageantry of the ego without substance, meant in the retelling to impress a very stupid and dull coterie of equally LSMV rejects more accustomed to getting ignored by high quality men than to putting those unattainable men in their places.

– by saying I felt sorry for him, using his own words against him, and turning the tables around.

I’m sure he was utterly destroyed by your lethal psy ops campaign.

He continued to not see the error of his ways and be the literal worst.

Resentful woman unable to convince man to cater to her feelz has literal meltdown in ASCII.

I’m out. I’m done! I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t handle humans or fuckboys or ignorance or Trump or anything that’s not at least 13% ABV or laced with THC.

This is the mewling of a woman who has experienced failure after failure in her search for a boyfriend. Naturally, she blames Trump.

So, fam, if you encounter an ignorant fuckboy along the lines of Jack, just remember that the best solution is to screenshot the conversation and put the entire thing in your Snapchat story and on the internet. Because, friends, it happens to the best of us.

So, fellow cundts, if you encounter a man who won’t tolerate your vapid lib bullshit and grating personality, just remember that the best solution is to publicly broadcast your private conversations with him in the hope that you’ll inspire a chorus of sympathetic losers to cheerlead your self-immolation and validate your desire to humiliate those who won’t feed your egotistical, self-absorbed, status striving herdthink.

The final word on the CUNDT and her species of post-America millennial woman:

they pair up with modern genderless shitlib males and get into those punching bag relationships where the wife is in the driver seat so both of their lives just sort of end up doing donuts, swerving into oncoming traffic, etc. if they have money they end up brunching and biking a lot and talking about global warming and refugees and rescue dogs. the woman becomes mean and haggard and a public nuisance and the man just looks at the floor a lot. looks like hell but tons of men jump right into it early and never reassess.

Good news. The Reassessing has begun. DOTR has a new meaning, and shitlib femcunt fatties will be hardest hit.

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