Dispatches From The Jerkboy Field

Reader Jim gives a short field report testifying to the Power of Jerkboy.

Off-topic: A girl I’m seeing on the side just texted me “You have me so wet right now. How is that possible when you’re making fun of me?”

I keep waiting for CH to be proven wrong about something… but it hasn’t happened yet. Girls love jerks.

They sure do. Smartasses. Jerks. Even assholes. Girls love ’em, and the niceguys can only watch in despair from the sidelines (or until said girls reach post-nubility age and suddenly become available to them. heh).

In all the time this ‘umble abode has been running there hasn’t been a single field report come in over the wire that delivered news of Boring Beta Politeness lubing the limbic of a sassy lassie. I’m sure it happens…somewhere…sometime…but it’s a rare event, like an eclipse. You perk up and take notice when you hear of it.

Everything you need to know about women is revealed in their romantic fantasies. Ol’ Reliable and Ol’ Dependable are always MIA from women’s erotic steamscapes. When was the last time you heard of a girl fantasizing about a proper beta pulling a chair out for her? Or paying for her drinks? The absence is telling.

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Where Do All The Good Girls Go?

Commenter Pusifer (most excellent handle) wonders how a man with a lavish taste for wanton love sheds his accumulated bedroom company.

CH: “One six month stretch I had tore my way through fifteen women”

How do you get rid of them after?!

Some drifted away, some left purposefully, some cried on my porch, some stormed off angrily. Some texted forlornly, but got no reply at all.

A lesson for the ladies: if a man’s heart isn’t ready to merge completely with another, it will be a high hill to climb to convince him otherwise.

This illustrates two big advantages of prowling a densely populated sexual market.

1. Submersion into the Bangborg. It’s harder to bump into former lovers from among a sea of worker drones and have that awkward “wow so what have you been up to since we last….saw each other?” convo.
2. If on the off chance you do bump into a past or present plate, there’s an unspoken assumption between atomized hedonists that this is just the way things are in this place we mutually inhabit but separately share. You may fuck me one night, and forget me the next, and I may do likewise, and it would be very gauche of either of us to lament this lay of the land like some sentimental fool.

This also illustrates the one big disadvantage of dating in the bangopolises: if you’re looking for love you can count on, get ready for an adventure that likely won’t end the way you want.

So to answer Pusifer’s question more pithily: the women never left, they just faded to gray.

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What Age Is Curtain Call For Club Girls?

An observation, from me own eyes and time spent nestled deep in the booby-trapped dating trenches:

Girls drop out of the nightclub scene around age 25.

Some sooner, some later, but the curtain call age for girls seeking men in da club is on average about 25yo.

Clubbing is a young woman’s game. It takes spunk, junk, (maybe crunk), and….most importantly….the youthfully hottie good looks to inspire a same night spelunk.

I feel I was born with a talent for getting inside women’s heads and knowing how they tick, so this is what I’d guess goes on in the concentric mini-brain of the girly rationalization hamster that spins the wheel fueling the superfluous careercunt maxi-brain which envelops it:

The girl who hits 25 — and recall the CH axiom that peak female beauty and therefore fuckability and muse-ability is between the ages 15 and 25, give or take a few outliers — subconsciously knows her salad days are behind her. She may still be a looker, but the competition is wicked and slicked, and if the coolestasfuckness men are the point of her losing her hearing and sleep shouting in nightclubs until 2AM, then she’ll be passed over for the ripest peaches.

So there’s that subconscious signal flare warning her of rocky outcroppings ahead, but more pertinently there’s that instant feedback she gets when the male gaze doesn’t alight as firmly forcefully obsessively and a little psychopathically on her fruit stand like it did when she was younger. She’ll get stares from men, but they won’t be from the best men, and their stares will break off earlier than they used to, and get distracted easily by passing nancies.

Footnote: The curtain call age has been steadily rising, because of a number of sexual market disruptions and trendlines converging in post-America. I predict we may see an average nightclubbing female age of 30 in the near future as an increasing horde of single, childless mimosaettes desperate to avoid the detritus swamping online dating return to the classic meat market haunts.

It’s useful to contrast curtain call ages for club grilles and club monsters. Twenty-five is practically the START of a man’s clubbing career. It’s not uncommon to see men well into their 30s working the club floors and whores, as long as those men haven’t let themselves go to pot and know how to dress with a masculine sexy flair. The club curtain call ages mirror the bioreality of male and female reproductive fitness windows: women hit a higher max speed but crash early, men a lower max speed but ride longer.

A 35 year old woman in the club is pitiable. A 35 year old man in the club is pardonable.

The curtain call age for bars is a bit older, if for no other reason than that the absence of loud techno music, bathroom bumps, and frantic dancing are a relief to aging bodies and angsty minds. Fully grown oldsters will shamble around bars and no one will bat an eye. Still, women don’t like to throw their mate choice prerogative in with bars, either, but will feel less uncomfortable in bars than they do in clubs dogging it out until their early 30s if they are single and (god forbid!) swallowing patriarchal Pink Pills by the barrel.

Last call in bars is usually late 20s for most women who have need of a bar’s services. For men, it’s late 30s, even up to mid-40s. It occasionally needs repeating, because platitudes that stroke the gynarchy’s ego are tasty and mollifying: the average man enjoys a surplus fifteen years of romantic possibility over the average woman’s dating lifespan. This is why a 30 year old woman “settles” while a 30 year old man “relents”. It’s the difference between catastrophe insurance and early retirement.

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Shitlib Men And Shitlib Chicks: The Fracturing

The Anti-Trump “””resistance””” has always been a gynocentric movement, consisting mostly of low E single White SWPL sluts, cougars, spinsters, boy-hipped androgynes, fatsos, uglies, and older broads of the type who hang dreamcatchers over their loveless beds. The protests are majority female, and the passion is largely an outpouring of female bitching and moaning, organized at the very top by effeminate Antifa and Cozener nü-males.

I bring this up because I’ve noticed a change in the way shitlib men behave around their Shrillennial shitlib women whenever the subject of Trump is broached. The women are still crazy with wild-eyed hatred for Trump, giving themselves over to histrionic avowals to stop Trump, humiliate Trump, or even kill Trump (if they could get away with it). This has been their M.O. (Menstruation of Offense) since the election.

The shitlib (Gentile) men, though, are far more circumspect in professing the intensity of their anti-Trump hatred, so much so that I wonder if they really hate the man or if they’re mouthing empty pledges of fealty to a resistance they don’t really feel in their hearts. The difference is especially noticeable when I peel one of these shitlib men away from their Cunt4Prez shrews to have a one-on-one political conversation about current events. It’s during these times that the lemming libmask slips and I can practically hear them taking their first micro doses of red pill, scoffing at the Russia fake news and agreeing that Trump is a major earthquake in the political landscape whose ideas should be taken seriously.

The passionate shitlib women? Forget it, they’re unreachable. You either parrot their insipid Trump-hate, or you ever so gently disagree with them and they promptly exeunt in a muff huff.

Then when the libmen are back in the company of their libcunts, they immediately abandon their tentative forays into masculine realtalk for the submissive role of playing affirmation therapist to their harridans. But their affirmations are weak and feeble, and occasionally one of the libwomen will break social protocol and demand a stronger display of alliance from her Test-less wonder, which he will try to appease with a humorous segue intended to redirect the conversation away from the volatile vaj flapping to something lighter and less toxic.

My personal observations are of course the law of the land, so expect to see more breakups between less unhinged shitlib men and their insane shitlib women demanding total allegiance to their pussyhat religion. I call it The Fracturing, and I predict three consequences from it:

1. Fewer relationships between ideologically-divergent men and women (which means fewer relationships in general, because there aren’t enough lunatic libmen for every lunatic libchick).
2. More bitter single libchicks, creating a menstrual spiral into deranged anti-Trump hatred inconsolable by any therapeutic means of intervention. Not even kitten porn can save them now.
3. Intensified assortative mating and marrying along ideological complementarity. This isn’t a good trend, because it will also drive deeper rifts between classes of White people and erode citizen fellowship, two ingredients necessary for the outbreak of another civil war.

PS Maul-Righters should be careful of succumbing to insularity disease. For every dulcet Katie McHugh, there are one hundred screechy pussyhat crones. We Men of the T have a lot of work to do to pull our single White women back from the brink of madness. Keep close the Poon Commandments, and you can’t fail in your rescue mission. Pay particular attention to Poon Commandments III, VIII, XV, and XVI:

III. You shall make your mission, not your woman, your priority

Forget all those romantic cliches of the leading man proclaiming his undying love for the woman who completes him. Despite whatever protestations to the contrary, women do not want to be “The One” or the center of a man’s existence. They in fact want to subordinate themselves to a worthy man’s life purpose, to help him achieve that purpose with their feminine support, and to follow the path he lays out. You must respect a woman’s integrity and not lie to her that she is “your everything”. She is not your everything, and if she is, she will soon not be anymore.

***

VIII. Say you’re sorry only when absolutely necessary

Do not say you’re sorry for every wrong thing you do. It is a posture of submission that no man should reflexively adopt, no matter how alpha he is. Apologizing increases the demand for more apologies. She will come to expect your contrition, like a cat expects its meal at a set time each day. And then your value will lower in her eyes. Instead, if you have done something wrong, you should acknowledge your guilt in a glancing way without resorting to the actual words “I’m sorry.” Pull the Bill Clinton maneuver and say “Mistakes were made” or tell her you “feel bad” about what you did. You are granted two freebie “I’m sorry”s for the life of your relationship; use them wisely.

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XV. Maintain your state control

You are an oak tree. You will not be manipulated by crying, yelling, lying, head games, sexual withdrawal, jealousy ploys, pity plays, shit tests, hot/cold/hot/cold, disappearing acts, or guilt trips. She will rain and thunder all around you and you will shelter her until her storm passes. She will not drag you into her chaos or uproot you. When you have mastery over yourself, you will have mastery over her.

XVI.  Never be afraid to lose her

You must not fear. Fear is the love-killer. Fear is the ego-triumph that brings abject loneliness. You will face your fear. You will permit it to pass over and through you. And when your ego-fear is gone you will turn and face your lover, and only your heart will remain. You will walk away from her when she has violated your integrity, and you will let her walk when her heart is closed to you. She who can destroy you, controls you. Don’t give her that power over yourself. Love yourself before you love her.

Strike the fear of insol into libchicks and you’ll marvel at how tractable they become.

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Inspired Woman

Reader Gas Mask parodied (aka improved the veracity of) a dating app advertisement featured on the Goodbye, America blog. The original ad:

And Gas Mask’s pitch perfect parody:

The blue city dating scene is now filled with these over-credentialed yet airheaded yoga-pants’ed “spiritual but not religious” aging beauties regurgitating platitudes and catchwords so vapid they could only be cynically interpreted as misdirection from what these women really want: the destruction of everything their White men built for them.

The luxury of this vacuous virtue signaling that characterizes the societal output of our shared single White woman problem will be like muff dust in the wind once the money, and the White man self-effacing indulgence, runs out. That day is coming sooner than our entrenched globohomo elites know.

My favorite comments from that Goodbye, America post:

Finally, a dating site for women who want geldings or gays.
-Alex the Goon

It is no doubt a tired story. Attractive white woman in yoga pants making “friends” with the locals. Some of them are living that life, and it’s largely paid for by a cuck white man. If it isn’t, and she is still sexy enough, those trips to Dubai are for making friendly with the buttholes of royalty while he takes a dump on her head. But, hey, culture, right?
-James ashleh

Its all about the image and self absorption. Nothing else matters.

It would never even occur to them there that this might be what they’re all about. But they are.
-Cecil Henry

And just what, exactly, is “personal growth”? Growth can be measured. Can any of these self-absorbed broads give me a concise explanation as to how they measure personal growth? Please quantify it for me.
-KGB

Quantification class is hard.

I can stroke the fragile egos of self-contextualizing globalist girls with the best of amoral womanizers, and if the poon is what you want I suggest you do the same. Needlessly antagonizing globowhores by calling them out on their vapidity isn’t good pickup policy. But if you intend to stay with one of these space cadettes, you’ll need to set ground rules early: No poopytalk, no “after hours” with their yogi/cocaine dealer, and no solo travel to chocolate paradises.

The Inspired Woman is the Self-Centered Woman. She’s inspired to tell the world (and jealous girlfriends) about all the globohomo consumerist bullshit and Pedowood-approved moral posturing that inspires her. If women wonder why men can’t be counted on to treat them like princesses anymore, well maybe it’s because these women already treat themselves like princesses and men have decided their pedestal services are no longer needed.

PS There’s one category of inspiration missing from the original meetmindful self-mindfuck: children. As GBFM would say, “lzzllol DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY UP WITH MY PATREONARCHY lzzllolzzzl”.

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Another White Woman Spreads For Islam

News clippings about shitlib/antifa White women suffering the all-too-predictable consequences of taking their anti-White ideology seriously are an almost weekly occurrence. The latest is a howler, if you’re into schadenfreude so delicious the aftertaste lingers for weeks.

Antifa Chick Goes to Turkey With Muslim Loverboy, Gets Raped and Beaten

Lacy MacAuley is a well known radical left-wing Antifa organizer in Washington D.C. She was featured in Project Veritas’ undercover videos which exposed the #DisruptJ20 plot to violently disrupt President Trump’s inauguration.

Just like every other lunatic leftist, Lacy fell in love with Islam and became obsessed with helping Syrian ‘refugees’, wholeheartedly believing that Islam is the religion of peace. MacAuley details her experience dating a Turkish Muslim man, describing the hell and fear she lived in because he controlled every move she made, beat and raped her.

You should go to the link and read about the Rapefugee Enrichment Lacy MacAuley received in her own words (she lovingly detailed her international romance on her blog, natch). A few revealing excerpts:

The first two weeks were quite the love story. I observed that he was drinking heavily, and called him an “alky,” but it was just a joke at first.

Recall CH Maxim #[X]: A woman will hold a beta male endlessly accountable for the slightest infractions while promptly forgiving an alpha male the worst transgressions.

Then came our first fight. I had wanted to interview a local woman for an article on Syrian refugees. He did not approve. He knew the woman and did not like her, so he strictly forbade me from speaking with her. After I questioned his rationale, he yelled and stormed out of the room to go smoke a cigarette. I just stood in the middle of the room not knowing what to do. Of course, as a Western woman, no one had ever forbidden me from speaking with anyone else. It was a strange feeling: Don’t I have a mouth to speak? Why can I not use it as I wish?

There was another strange feeling in her vagina: SPLOOGE. You think I’m kidding? Nope. Read on. She stayed with the inbred sandwog for more than two months of sex (nonconsensual, she claims, though this post-cock rationalization is likely subject to alternative interpretation), after experiencing numerous episodes of his charming vibrancy. #LoveWins!

I honestly think that one of the reasons that I have been silent about this for two months has been that I did not want to feed into the narrative of Muslim men being aggressive. I didn’t want to fuel hatred or racism. But silence breeds complicity, and am now telling this story in order to heal.

“I didn’t want to feed the narrative of anti-Muslim hatred or racism, so I covered up a story of a hateful, abusive Muslim man feeding the narrative.”

Are empowered feminist shitlib women sick in the head, or are social pressures and dysfunction in the West simply permitting the omnipresent female id, including its worst instincts, to break out of its cage and roam freely? Perhaps feminist cunts with a pathologically enlarged empathy gland for foreign scum are more susceptible to indulging their primitive sexual compulsions when societal guardrails are removed?

Or maybe these shitlib chicks are unattractive and lonely and ignored by the alpha White men who are in vanishing supply among their shitlib social set.

Are they just garden variety attention whores?

This is Lacy MacAuley:

Manjaw. Manlips. Thousand cock stare. A bad combo for the continuation of Western Civ. This woman is a walking biohazard sign warning that you’ll have to check your sanity and illusion of paternity certainty at the door if you get involved with her.

How many women are like Lacy, in full-throated assault against their own culture and White men as they scuttle to shitholes to sexually adopt gutter filth pets as vanity projects to affirm their twisted libshit morality and soothe their undernourished maternal instinct? A thousand? A million? Tens of millions?

Canary in a coal burner. The Lacys of the West are a wide-open omen of social collapse coming to an endocrine-disrupted globalized outpost near you.

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PS On the subject of international hedonism, was G Manifesto at the Fyre Festival?

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How To Spot A Shitlady In The Shitlibistan Wilds

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.

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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.

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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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