Archive for the ‘Dating’ Category

This edition of the Washington Bezos’ “Date Lab” is a rarity; not for the beta male’s crash and burn (all too common) but for the clues in the quotes that reveal a budding shitlady navigating the dating shoals of DC, which next to San Frannie and Minneapolis is the shitlibbiest of shitlibistans.

Policy analyst Adam Staveski, 22, and financial analyst Maddie Csere, also 22, are fresh-faced and fresh out of local colleges, enjoying their first year as D.C. young professionals. We sent them to Maple in Columbia Heights to see if a shared love of running, economics and a laid-back attitude was enough to spark a fresh romance.

Read the story and keep an eye out for a name-drop of an infamous Twatter icon.





Got it? Ok.

Once you’ve found it, consider that this girl, Maddie, might very well be a female shitlord…a shitlady….and I mean that in the most complimentary way.

Evidence that Maddie is a closet alt-righter:

  1. Harambe name drop
  2. she’s from rural Michigan (Trumpland)
  3. according to her date, she’s able to “look at [political issues] with a lot of nuance”
  4. one of Maddie’s deal-breakers is someone who’s “extremely political” (aka a shitlib)

Number 3 is really telling. Any shitlady wading through the bug-eyed hysteria of a major shitlibistan learns to handle the local fauna with savviness and a deft inscrutability. Parroting shitlib insanity is the cheap accommodation; better is to retain one’s dignity by slipping realtalk into the hivemind miasma under cover of plausibly deniable “nuance” to avoid triggering one of the snowflakes into calling for ostracism air support.

And number 4 seals it for me; extreme politicization is the domain of liberals. Conservatives are much less invested in publicly debating politics and the status whoring verbal sparring that goes along with it. When a girl says she wants to avoid “extremely political” dates, she means “liberal male feminists who enjoy buttplay (their own)”.

This chick Maddie is RIPE for the taking by any Trumpentrooper who wants her. Just show up with biceps and a smirk.


Reader Little Spoon asks,

Can you give them a more attractive name than shitlady? Alt lady? No actually that sounds like some new kind of trans gender. I don’t know. You’re better with words than I am. But going on names alone, leftoid is more becoming than shitlady.

How about shivlady?

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The Wages Of Sluttery

Sluts pay a price for their sluttery. The price isn’t always immediately or conspicuously evident, (which allows women to plausibly claim that their sluttery isn’t hurting them right now), but it is paid eventually.

Case in point: Alicia “Miss Piggy” Machado, the Venezuelan and former Miss Universe woman of color and weight who was exploited by thecunt as a cudgel against Trump, but who later was discovered to have a closet full of so many skeletons that it’s all the media could do to cover-up for Machado and keep breathing air into thecunt’s attempted Trump-targeting “killshot“.

Humorously, one of those skeletons involved Machado in a Spanish reality TV show in 2005 in which she was filmed having sex with one of the participants.

The broadcast showed Acaso on top of her, with Machado whispering in Spanish about his manhood.

“Oh your d***, my love, what a tasty d***! Your d*** is divine,'” she moans while they romp.

All fun and games, except at the time Machado was engaged to Phillies baseball star Bobby Abreu, who quickly canceled the engagement after clips of her ride on the cock carousel went online.

Abreu made the smart choice — after all, sluts are more likely than chaste girls to cheat in marriage — and this anecdote is very telling of the price that sluts, even beautiful sluts, will pay. Men viscerally know, even if they can’t articulate their feelings, that sluts are both an expedited fun time and a long, slow descent into betrayal should one make the mistake of committing to a slut.

Evolution has seen fit to give men the skill of identifying and exploiting sluts for sexual pleasure without commitment. This is a behavioral trait that evolved from the necessity of paternity assurance to a man’s reproductive fitness. Marrying a slut and getting cuckolded by her later is the equivalent of never finding a woman to bear your children. It’s metadeath.

And so men are naturally leery of investing too much in sluts….even sexy sluts who are former Miss Universes. Now a beta schlub may have promptly “forgiven” and “supported” Machado after her cheating whore sex tape leaked because beta schlubs don’t have many sexual market options; they have to put up with a lot of female shit if they want access, however limited and unenthusiastically reciprocated, to prime pussy.

But an alpha male of Abreu’s stature (and as a pro baseball player he is that despite his unhandsome face) has plenty of options among sexy women. When Narco Kingpin Baby Momma Machado cheated on him, these options allowed him to easily and quickly cut her out of his life.

What does this matter to sluts? It matters this way: Most women want the best quality man they can get. Women who slut it up hurt their chances of getting that high quality man. A slut can assuage her ego by shacking up with a dickless betaboy willing to put up with her sordid past and skanky lifestyle, but deep in her heart she’ll know she lost out on a better man because better men want nothing to do with her kind beyond a perfunctory pump and dump.

This realization will burn a hole in a slut’s soul until the day she dies (of genital herpes complications).

The mythologizing into existence of a “slut-shaming culture”, like its “rape culture” cousin, may in fact be the political manifestation of a suppressed desire by women for a change in the dating market that reduces the necessity for signaling prompt sexual availability, (and related to the latter, a suppressed desire to be ravished by dominant sexy men). This hidden motivation goes to the nature of a woman’s romantic goals, which isn’t to serve as the town sperm receptacle but to leverage her body and youth for one high value man who forswears all other women for her alone.

Interestingly, the opacity and social disconnection of the anonymous urban sexual market conspires against women’s ability to achieve their prime directive by incentivizing sluttery as a relatively sustainable, if Sisyphean, long-term strategy. An atomized, class-stratified, mass scale society loses the natural checks and balances of extended or close family, childhood friends, and neighbors to shame a woman away from the slut life. The dedicated slut can swim these sexually liberated, sperm-saturated waters for a long time, because anonymity and hyper-individualism cloak her sexual history from beta males less experienced at identifying the behavioral and attitudinal tics of the slutty girl.

But it’s a self-defeating sexual market “advantage” that women can expect to enjoy in post-America. In the end, sluttiness outs. The beta male discovers this in divorce; the alpha male through the pre-release of an unauthorized sex tape or gleaned from a wisdom gained in the dating trenches. Even a Miss Universe found out the hard way what she would lose when her sluttiness was insufficiently shamed.

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Every once in a while one sees the exceptional couple who together smash realtrue stereotypes. I saw one such recently. A very striking, tall and slender blonde White woman kissing her asian boyfriend adieu. I’ve seen White woman-asian man couples before, but usually the woman was nothing to write home about, which is how this particular couple managed to jot a tittle in my limbic ledger.

No one wants asian guy? Not her. She wants asian guy!

Naturally my forensic Eye of Shivron whirred into gear to assess this violation of the cosmic biomechanic laws. The asian guy wasn’t a Keanuiac half-breed. Full-blooded from slope to slant. He did have some physical advantages which set himself apart from the usual ant people test-cheating hordes. He was average height (which adjusted to asian standards meant he was tall). He dressed like an A&F frat bro: crisp knit shirt, plaid shorts and sockless docksiders. Muscle-wise, also average (which again adjusted to asian standards meant he was buff). Facially, inoffensive enough to make a few asian-american girls rethink their opposition to dating inside the nippon tribe. Jawline was acceptably uncucked.

All in all, he looked completely Americanized (I’d guessed he was Japanese-American, but could easily have been Korean). Still, his alabaster lady was a White hard HB8 topping to a model-esque 5’9″ or so. And clearly, unmistakably, in love with him. (When he turned to leave her behind, I caught her staring longingly at his retreating figure for a few seconds. Those rovebirds!)

He could’ve been loaded, sure, but I think it was something else. Something that this man —

Dennis “pussy magnet” Kucinich

the fairy godmother of manlets, has similarly exhibited in photos with his hotter, tighter, younger wife who is at least three standard deviations out of his league (if we define “league” solely by the draw of a man’s physical appearance).

Wondering what that something is which our SWAG roverboy had? Look at these Kucinich pics and see if you can figure it out:




You’d be hard-pressed to burden a man with more physical and ideological shortcomings than Dennis “The Kuntroller” Kucinich — short, weird looking, skinny, old, liberal kook — yet here he is married to a genuine red-headed hottie. His unicorn horn stands taller than many nü-Aryan shitlords’ war pikes.

Yet the photos of him with his beauty reveal his secret. Notice anything missing?

That’s right, NO HOVERHAND.

Kucinich holds his lady tight and right, drawing her into him and pressing her flesh into his feeble old mannery that does not even lift. Notice too he doesn’t lean into her; if anyone’s leaning adoringly, it’s her.

Kucinich’s alpha male body language transmits a loud and clear message: “I take complete ownership of my woman”.

Ownership, aka men’s prerogative, is a vital ingredient in romantic relationships. Feminists and manlets swoon with hysteria, but TruGirls love it when a man doesn’t mince his meat. Declaring ownership of your woman, especially in public, is a powerful signal not only to other women that you have the mysterious “he’s got it” goods, but also a reminder to your beloved that you don’t live in apprehension that she’ll someday soon withdraw her love. Body language ownership is the opposite of the appeasement and fearfulness that the hoverhand betrays of a man’s character.

Returning to our SWAG, that’s what he had. In spades. During the kiss goodbye, he drew her by the waist into his chest and squeezed her ass in full view of NSA surveillance cameras. He winked at her before turning to depart, and didn’t look back to assure she was still tailing him with her gaze. There was no hoverhand, no leaning, no awkward pigeon footing, and no tender salivary pecks and canoodles so common among beta males who think a woman’s bosom is a security pillow to nestle their weary cuckheads.

Lesson of the lovingkindness: The right attitude and an unflinching assgrab will more than compensate for a man’s physical imperfections. If only more men would learn this lesson instead of projecting the contours of their visual-centric desire onto women.

PS Anecdotally, I don’t feel nearly as much aesthetic repulsion to WW-AM couples as I do to mudsharks. Maybe my hindbrain swiftly calculates that the genetic distance, physically, behaviorally, and mentally, between a White woman and a northeast asian man is a relatively small one set against the Saharan expanse between a White woman and a black man, and therefore my disgust reflex is comparatively dampened with the sight of the former. One is taking a piss in the White gene pool while the other is dropping a steaming deuce in it. Alternately, it could be that the extreme rarity of the former makes it more of a curiosity to me, and thus less noxious, while the relatively higher frequency and, especially, propaganda-fueled essence of the mudsharkers provokes a stronger emotional response (tied up as these coal burning couples inevitably are with their anti-White Narrative sponsorship).

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I have remarked that one will see far more fat man-slender cutie couples than the inverse. This REALTRUE observation perfectly accords with sexual market theory: specifically, men place primary importance on women’s looks and women place primary importance on men’s social status and personality (or, less pointedly, holistic importance on each facet of a man’s character).

But libido-projecting male readers remain astounded: how could it be so?

Instead of a dry exegesis on the mechanics of the dating field and women’s evolved romantic preferences, I’ll paraphrase a pithily revealing convo I had with a girl when this subject came up.

SHIV IN FLESH AND STEEL: You know [fat guy X]. His girlfriend is so cute. And thin! He must bring something to the table.


SHIV IN FLESH AND STEEL: {Faux curiosity} Oh yeah?


SHIV IN FLESH AND STEEL: {faux prying} And that makes up for the uncinematic sex?

EXPERIMENTAL GIRL SUBJECT: *laughs* I bet the sex is hot. He probably throws her around like a rag doll.

Yes, for anyone, man or woman, it’s better to be lean than fat. No one of sound mind would argue otherwise. But a fat man with an out-sized personality and bloated self-confidence will easily compensate for his extra pounds. (A fat woman has no such option, because men aren’t wired to see past her blubber to the beauty within.)

Girls have an amazing ability to overlook or rationalize a man’s physical demerits if he has equal or surpassing merits in his non-physical traits. Nothing further needs saying on this topic.

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Scanman posits three rules of dating in post-America:

A few gems of sage advice that I will pass on to my sons —

1. If a woman has ever been photographed wearing a crown or tiara on her birthday, she is likely a shit human being.

2. Ditto for any woman who has referred to herself or her friends as a goddess.

3. Women who claim to “love helping people” are invariably manipulative, untrustworthy and usually treat their own family like shit.

I find nothing objectionable in this crib sheet. If you just want a simple guide to girls that requires the least bit of pattern recognizing effort, steering clear of tiara girls, “goddesses”, and avowedly altruistic women is as good as any dating guide you’ll find in laddies mags.

The beauty of Scanman’s rules for red pillers is that following them effectively screens out the worst of the post-America girls: the pathological narcissists and ¡lookatme! attention whores. It also screens out a lot of fatties, because I can’t help but notice a calorically-dense number of broads who wear tiaras and refer to themselves as goddesses are fat fucks.

The last rule might invite skepticism — after all, women as a sex are more empathetic than men and can thus be expected to have stronger urges to “help people” — but understand that there’s a crucial distinction between the typical sappy woman and the virtue signaling SJW urbanette who makes a big show of her altruism. Aggressively empathetic women can be as dangerous as aggressively cold-hearted men. More dangerous, actually, as ruthless men aren’t likely to flood their nations with millions of incompatible mud worlders just for the self-righteousness high.


Commenter chris adds labcoat context to the third rule.

“3. Women who claim to “love helping people” are invariably manipulative, untrustworthy and usually treat their own family like shit.”

There is a scientific explanation for this.

Basically, doing things that are regarded as ‘moral’ makes people feel like they have built up a ‘moral credit’ that they can draw on in the future to offset any immoral behaviour or ‘moral debits’ they engage in.


Nazis by Kraut: A Playful Application of Moral Self-Licensing

Doing something moral gives one a license to do something immoral. This form of moral compensation is called “moral self-licensing”. Interestingly, the moral behavior can take place in another domain than the subsequent immoral behavior. For example, buying eco-friendly products gives one a license to steal. This article is based on the idea that a healthy diet has a moral dimension. As a consequence, consuming a healthy product should give one a license for immoral behavior. This research supports this hypothesis on a playful study. This study shows that drinking sauerkraut juice contributes to a stronger support of Nazi-esque right wing ideology than drinking either nothing or a less-healthy beverage (Nestea).

Avowedly, assertively altruistic women (or women who claim the altruism mantle) are probably sluts with a well-fed rationalization hamster ready to justify their future infidelities.

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You ever get stuck on a really awful date and wondered what to do about it? This jerklord decided the best defense is to be really offensive. With a little encouragement from his mates, he pulled out all the tricks in the Asshole’s Guide to Making Women Horny (Or Sorry They Ever Took You for a Beta Pushover). Follow the story from top to bottom, and keep an eye out in one of the videos for the exact second our ho-tagonist experiences a pleasant zap in her taco trap.














Were you paying attention? Right after the hair tussle, she smiled a bit and a momentary look of…intrigue… swept across her face. THAT was the turning point, when she changed from uninterested rude bitch with her face in her phone to curious rude bitch with her face out of her phone and looking at this man with the minerals to do what he just did.

When a girl is this cunty on a date — literally more interested in her 6 inch phone screen than in you — there are three options available to you that at least salvage your dignity if not help you savage her vagina.

  1. Call her out. This isn’t the most charming or ZFG option, but it is better than sitting there and suffering her rudeness like a chump. “Are you gonna be a rude bitch all night, or just during appetizers?” The meet-to-lay ratio on this tactic won’t be great, but the meet-to-self-respect ratio is through the roof. And some girls WILL react positively to being called the fuck out for extreme bitchitude.
  2. Leave. Similar to #1, but without the risk of sounding butthurt. You just get up and go, no words exchanged, no excuses offered. Little chance of a lay with this move, but you’ll have tremendous satisfaction as you walk out knowing you left her in a state of confusion and Hillary-voting bitterness.
  3. Amp the Asshole. What this guy did here. This is my preferred method, but be careful not to overdo it. Once you unleash your Inner Jerkboy, it’s hard to keep him from having the run of the place. This is because you’ll immediately notice the powerful effect it has on girls, and you’ll also notice how good it feels to let your Jerk Flag fly. It will raise your T levels and that’s a drug no man can resist mainlining.

The Beta Male option — the one 99% of men would choose in similar circumstances — is to sit there and force weak-ass supplicating banter hoping she’ll suddenly find you more interesting than her phone. Never happens, and her opinion of you (already in the basement) will dive even lower. Worse, some men will buy such a girl more drinks, figuring (wrongly) that if Resource Provider Toolbag Game isn’t working, that means she just needs more of it.

“But, CH…”, some readers will rebut, “…she left! His jerkboy game didn’t work!”

Ah, young pantywad, much to learn you have. After the fourth jerkboy prank (the feet on the table) it became clear to her that he was fucking around and not in the least considering her anymore as a romantic prospect. The key with Jerkboy Game is that a little goes a long way. The hair tussle and the fork grab were sufficient assholery to spark a nascent arousal in her. Had he then settled into a commanding frame, (instead of continuing with his asshole clown frame), and segued into a better rapport by saying something like, “now that I have your attention, we can get down to the serious business of making fun of you”, he stood a chance at making something of this date.

Not a big chance, but a better chance than what he had going in, which was nothing. A girl engrossed with her phone while on a date with you is already lost. May as well throw beta politesse to the wind and summon the Titans of Testicles to grant you the power of a thousand DGAF jerkboy warrior-poets.

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A reader worthy of wielding the obsidian Chateau shiv sends a screen cap of his Tinder response to a single mom-by-choice. The lols are strong (and frequent) in this one. (Reader’s Twatter handle is @FUSigma.)

How to teach cause-and-effect to Millennial Tinderellas & impose sanctions on single mommery:

(It’s especially effective if it’s done immediately, so that the reason is obvious.)



A few thoughts:

First, this reader’s Game, however little of it he revealed here, is tight. He promptly starts off with a qualifying question, to which the single-mom-by-choice eagerly feels the urge to defend her skankly honor. The quickest seductions occur when the woman is thrown back in the defensive crouch. In fact, the line “So how normal are you?” could legitimately serve as an effective, all-purpose opener. Don’t even bother with the “hi”, just stroll up and drop that hamster nuke at ground zero. It’ll get laughs from the cool, self-confident (read: thin and cute) women, and that’s practically the same as foreplay.

Second, I commend the sly follow-up leading question; not “are you divorced?” (which can trigger an offended rebuttal), but “how long have you been divorced?” This is assume-the-slut Game, and she couldn’t resist correcting his assumption.

Third, this woman is weaponized American Whore, marinated in decades of feminist cunt indoctrination. Her answer — “I’ve never been married lol” — indicates a confidence with, or an obliviousness to, how she’ll be received by men for admitting she shat out a bastard with a fly-by-night jerkboy. She thinks men will praise her. And why does she think men will praise her shitty life choices? Because she probably has experience on Tinder stringing along thirsty beta and omega pre-op Millennial males to treat her nicely and boost her ego major, in return for a fraction of the sex she lavished in one night on her sperm donor.

Fourth, notice all the “lol”s Alayna scatters throughout her banter. This is a tell-tale verbal tic that hints at the desperation and self-doubt lurking underneath her tough skank facade. Insincere LOLs are an attempt to coax intimacy, and a conversational bonding, that doesn’t yet exist. Beta males do it all the time (which is why  they fail). The scattershot LOL is also a ploy to distract someone from keying in on the LOLyer’s personal flaws (which in this case is the single mommery and Samsonite sprog).

Finally, my opinion is that the best message shiv to deliver single moms-by-choice is the pump-and-dump. Leading her on to get what you want out of her — a quick and dirty no muss no fuss lay while avoiding tripping over her kid’s toys on the way to the bedroom, and then ghosting — will leave bloodier stigmata on her soul than the curt “Unmatch”. The problem is that very few men can pull off this cold-hearted maneuver without getting physiologically attached to the pussy and returning repeatedly to that over-used well, because very few men are alpha males accustomed to living with the knowledge of endless sexual market options. Therefore, an alternative special lesson to teach the feminist-brainwashed squadrons of stupidly proud single moms is what FUSigma did here: the rhetorical pump-and-dump.

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