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Entertaining field report from Capogambino about his night almost stealing a sexhibitionist from her borefriend.

I’m at the local pub on a Friday, and a guy walks in with two girls dressed for the club scene. One girl is a bit chubby and totally forgettable. The other, his girlfriend, is a solid 9, full slut uniform, hair, makeup, tight stretch black dress barely covering her ass. At several times during the night, as she’s walking around the bar or dancing, her dress rides up, revealing a juicy crescent of ripe cheek for a few moments before she pulls it back down. All the guys in the bar are staring at her, waiting for the next wardrobe malfunction.
At one point, the group I’m with is sitting at the table next to theirs, and I overhear her say, “I can get any guy in this bar to buy me a drink.” Her boyfriend and the other chic are doubting her, so she calls over to our table, “I need a drink, who wants to get me one?” The guys at my table are staring at her, not sure how to react, the girls looking like they want to set her on fire and feed her ashes to dogs. I chime in first, “Depends. What are you drinking?”
“Ginger snap.”
“Aw, a foofy drink. We should do shots. I’m thinking tequila.”
She looks surprised, and mildly intrigued.
“No, I want a ginger snap.” She’s testing me.
We go back a forth a bit but she won’t come off the ginger snap, so I turn back to my table and start chatting.
I glance over and her friends are looking at her like “ha-ha told you so”, and she’s looking disappointed. She sees me looking over, so she tries again. “So you’re not gonna buy me a drink?”
I stand up, walk over, stand close to her looking down, take her by the hand, and say, “Let’s go to the bar and pick something out.”
Her eyes light up like she’s been hit by lighting. She gets up, takes me arm-in-arm, pulling me close so my arm is pressed against the side of her tit, and we start walking to the bar.
I’m thinking I don’t really want to get into a fight with her boyfriend and get kicked out of my favorite pub, so I pull away a little. She looks me in the eye with a mischievous twinkle, pulls me back in, and starts rubbing my arm against the side of her tit.
At this point I’m wondering whether this girl has any boundaries, and thinking mischievously myself about how to test them. We get to the bar and she still has my arm locked against her tit. As we’re waiting for the bartender, we banter back and forth about what drink I’m getting her, with me teasing her about her wimpy girly drinks. I pull my arm free and move it to her lower back and stroke it slowly. She turns to me, presses her tits into me and puts her hand on my chest. At this point I’m in the bubble and completely forgetting about the boyfriend. I imagine he must have been seething back at the table watching our little scene.
I think maybe my stroking gets her dress to misbehaving again, and she reaches down and starts pulling it back into place, commenting about how she keeps flashing everyone. I snicker and tell her she’s got a great ass, and that all the guys in the bar have been staring at it all night. I give a couple gentle tugs on the back of her dress and say, “Why don’t you give ‘em all a show?” She gives me a naughty girl look, and says, “Go for it.” I pull slowly on the back of her dress. I can feel it coming up, but I have no idea how much, because I’m eye locked with her, and she’s staring back with a look like she wants me to throw her across the bar and ravage. Then she giggles and says, “Not that far,” and starts pulling her dress back down. That’s when the forgotten boyfriend shows up.
He pushes us apart, turns to me and yells “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!”
Part of my brain is telling me to get ready for a fight and start thinking about how to calm him down, but I can’t help just laughing. Then the girl shouts, “Leave us alone!” She starts trying to claw her way past him to get back to me. He turns to her, pushes her back, and yells, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!”
“Go away! He’s buying me a drink!” They’re in a little wrestling match as she’s still trying to wriggle around him and he’s holding her back.
I figure this is my chance to exit stage left before things get ugly, so I retreat to the bathroom. I take a piss, then I’m washing my hands as he storms in. “Dude, that was so uncool!” I back up, ready for a fight. I look at him for a moment and decide he’s not gonna fight over it. So I do a weak mea culpa, calm him down, and he leaves.
When I get back to the table a WK friend of mine hits me with “That was just so wrong, you shouldn’t have done that.”
So I say “She asked me to.” I tell the story of what we said at the bar, and we all have a good laugh about it. I can feel the stares of the two of them boring into me. When I glance over, I see them looking at me, him with daggers, her with tingles. They pay their bill and leave, so no chance to seal the deal.

Mate guarding when the whore is out of the barn is never a good look; it’s bound to push the girl even further away. The boyfriend in this tale of ho should dump her post haste because she’s gonna cheat on him soon if she isn’t already.

This girl is a particularly noxious genus of exhibitionist, the “let’s you and him fight” variety who uses the public display of her dripping sexuality as a red cape for any alpha males nearby who could conceivably challenge her boyfriend’s ownership of her and provide her with the ferocious tingles that only two men fighting for her glans can coax.

Similarly, her exhibitionism could have been motivated by relationship trouble (her bf ignoring her, for example) and she was keen to enlist Mr. Stranger Danger to ignite her boyfriend’s jealously so that he’d appreciate her again. Either way, the recruited interloper is playing with fire; he gets the bf’s fury or the slut’s retconned rejection.

Copagambino had some ZFG fun and played his hand well, but in the end an exhibitionist got the drama she needed and Copa narrowly avoided the drama he didn’t need.

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Humans aren’t fungible. Human races aren’t interchangeable. Even our notions of right and wrong are particular to our race. SWPL leftoids who assume the morality which guides them also guides the peoples of the Dirt World are making as ASS out of U and ME. Not to mention, aiding and abetting the destruction of the homelands they share with less naive or less malicious Whites.

The Fecalized Environment People of the world are incompatible with White Civilization. A bristling field report from a Nice White Woman who spent a year in Senegal on a Peace Corp mission proves the point.

What I Learned in the Peace Corps in Africa: Trump Is Right

Three weeks after college, I flew to Senegal, West Africa, to run a community center in a rural town. Life was placid, with no danger, except to your health. That danger was considerable, because it was, in the words of the Peace Corps doctor, “a fecalized environment.”

In plain English: s— is everywhere. People defecate on the open ground, and the feces is blown with the dust – onto you, your clothes, your food, the water. He warned us the first day of training: do not even touch water. Human feces carries parasites that bore through your skin and cause organ failure.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that a few decades later, liberals would be pushing the lie that Western civilization is no better than a third-world country. Or would teach two generations of our kids that loving your own culture and wanting to preserve it are racism.

***

Senegal was not a hellhole. Very poor people can lead happy, meaningful lives in their own cultures’ terms. But they are not our terms. The excrement is the least of it. Our basic ideas of human relations, right and wrong, are incompatible. […]

Take something as basic as family.  Family was a few hundred people, extending out to second and third cousins.  All the men in one generation were called “father.”  Senegalese are Muslim, with up to four wives.  Girls had their clitorises cut off at puberty.  (I witnessed this, at what I thought was going to be a nice coming-of-age ceremony, like a bat mitzvah or confirmation.)  Sex, I was told, did not include kissing.  Love and friendship in marriage were Western ideas.  Fidelity was not a thing.  Married women would have sex for a few cents to have cash for the market.

What I did witness every day was that women were worked half to death. Wives raised the food and fed their own children, did the heavy labor of walking miles to gather wood for the fire, drew water from the well or public faucet, pounded grain with heavy hand-held pestles, lived in their own huts, and had conjugal visits from their husbands on a rotating basis with their co-wives. Their husbands lazed in the shade of the trees.

***

The Ten Commandments were not disobeyed – they were unknown. The value system was the exact opposite. You were supposed to steal everything you can to give to your own relatives. There are some Westernized Africans who try to rebel against the system. They fail.

We hear a lot about the kleptocratic elites of Africa. The kleptocracy extends through the whole society. My town had a medical clinic donated by international agencies. The medicine was stolen by the medical workers and sold to the local store. If you were sick and didn’t have money, drop dead. That was normal.

So here in the States, when we discovered that my 98-year-old father’s Muslim health aide from Nigeria had stolen his clothes and wasn’t bathing him, I wasn’t surprised. It was familiar.

In Senegal, corruption ruled, from top to bottom. Go to the post office, and the clerk would name an outrageous price for a stamp. After paying the bribe, you still didn’t know it if it would be mailed or thrown out. That was normal.

One of my most vivid memories was from the clinic. One day, as the wait grew hotter in the 110-degree heat, an old woman two feet from the medical aides – who were chatting in the shade of a mango tree instead of working – collapsed to the ground. They turned their heads so as not to see her and kept talking. She lay there in the dirt. Callousness to the sick was normal.

***

All the little stores in Senegal were owned by Mauritanians. If a Senegalese wanted to run a little store, he’d go to another country. The reason? Your friends and relatives would ask you for stuff for free, and you would have to say yes. End of your business. You are not allowed to be a selfish individual and say no to relatives. The result: Everyone has nothing.

***

I couldn’t wait to get home. So why would I want to bring Africa here? Non-Westerners do not magically become American by arriving on our shores with a visa.

Truespeak. White values and White morality, let alone White worldview, White aptitude, White creativity, White psychology, White temperament, and White culture — in sum, White uniqueness, can’t be ported to other races, and in trying to do so all that is accomplished is a diminishment of the Whiteness — in form and function — we, in our vapid virtue signaling sanctimony, want the nonWhite world to share in, to adopt, to enjoy the blessings of, and ultimately to assume control of and to destroy.

We need more pushback like this field report from all corners of the )))dissident media(((. Trump is our opening salvo. He gets the memes out there — “shitholes” — and the screams of the White lambs follow, because they know any movement of the national conversation in the direction of Truth & Beauty means more obstacles in the way of realizing their dystopian vision of a gated community of White shitlib elites lording it over a sea of mystery meats.

The Rootless White Left know the wolf is outside their bubble, eyes leveled, teeth bared, muscles taut. They can feel our hot breath. They are afraid.

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After you read this incredibly Millennial news story, you’ll understand why I titled this post “The Voluntarily Sexless Marriage” instead of “The Voluntarily Celibate Marriage”. Our platonically married couple isn’t celibate at all; they’re just celibate for each other.

The sexless marriage is a timeless rue with an explainable kernel of pedestrian truth to it, but at least it can be said for men trapped in age-independent sexless marriages that their woeful predicament wasn’t contractually inked before the vows were exchanged. Not so for Tiffany Trump’s newlywed friends:

When New York socialites Quentin Esme Brown and Peter Cary Peterson got hitched in Las Vegas over the weekend in front of a small group of friends — including Tiffany Trump, who acted as the flower girl — they knew that people would make some assumptions. Either they were madly in love or drunk, right? In reality, the best friends said they were neither. They’re planning to make theirs a sexless, open marriage, they explained, and this actually sounds like a pretty wise idea to relationship experts.

100% of chaimstream media approved “relationship experts” are charlatans.

“Sexless marriage”. An irretrievably broken, anhedonic society at war with the reality of innate sex differences takes the one redeeming feature of marriage and tosses it away.

A sexless marriage is pointless, but a sexless, OPEN marriage is just plain malicious, because those super progressive, feminist friendly polyamorous arrangements never benefit both parties equally; it’s usually the slutty woman getting her rocks off down the hall as her moans of ecstasy drive her incel “partner” crazy with murder-suicide ideation.

“He has always been my soulmate in every sense of the word

Women and men have competing definitions of “soulmate”. Men tend to emphasize the “mate” part of the term.

and we felt mutually that Vegas was the place to finalize our commitment to partnership,” Brown explained on Instagram. “Peter and I are not romantically involved — in fact we are still dating others and will continue to seek love in all forms — we are just each other’s hearts and wish to begin our journey towards evolution, because the more we face reality, the more we can see that there is no right or wrong.”

Poopytalk. They’re doing the opposite of facing reality; they’re hiding from it under cover of Clown World’s Cloak of Inchoateness. If Tiffany Trump’s friends are indicative of Tiffany’s own views, it’s no wonder Papa Trump practically disowned her.

Susan Pease Gadoua, a licensed therapist

Licensed to bilk.

and co-author of The New “I Do,” has yet to meet anyone else with this kind of marriage, but she says it fits in with the way she sees many people deciding to change the rules to suit their relationship needs.

Dope. People aren’t changing the rules to suit their piques; they’re lowering their expectations and adapting to the encroaching jungle.

“We don’t need to get married for any of the reasons we used to,”

Including but not limited to reasons such as reproduction and generational continuity.

Gadoua tells Yahoo Lifestyle. “Once you’ve got everything else in place, it is like the cherry on top.”

But Brown and Peterson don’t seem to have married for children. So why get married at all?

The question with no answer that won’t sound like a try-hard rationalization.

“We did this because we wanted to finalize our commitment to each other as life partners and best friends,” Peterson wrote on Instagram.

What happened to mutually presumed and unspoken loyalty between friends? If you have to rely on the imprimatur of State authorization to declare your shared friendship, you don’t have anything remotely resembling a friendship. Instead, you have a pose. Two attention whores jockeying for social status within their group of unloveable weirdos.

Brown also put a statement on Instagram, saying, “I am confident my husband and I will break some walls down,” she wrote.

If your official terms of endearment preclude fucking, he’s not your husband.

Husband:

before 1000; Middle English husband(e), Old English hūsbonda master of the house

You haven’t consecrated a house for him to master. You’re two neutered farm animals who happen to be dozing in the same bed of hay and dried manure.

“A lot of these sorts of marriages are in response to society getting increasingly isolated, and people want to create a kinship model. You either have to be married or you have to be blood relatives; otherwise, you can walk away from each other.”

Like I wrote, adaptation to the r-selected jungle.

This kind of union may in fact last longer than a marriage based solely on intense romantic attraction, Gadoua surmises.

Well, sure. Because it isn’t a marriage. It’s a zero-investment masquerade. It’s easy to let a “sexless, open marriage” linger for eternity because the cost of upkeep and dissolution is negligible. No romantic reward, no romantic risk.

The other advantage is that the friends can seek out those romances outside of this relationship. In this way, their setup resembles the kind of polyamorous arrangement that some couples have found to be a better alternative to divorce.

“Some couples” = a few physically and psychologically repulsive losers who can’t hack it in the human sphere where standards still exist.

“Where the complications are going to come in is when people outside their relationship look at it like, ‘I don’t want to get involved in that,’” Gadoua says. “It’s going to make it a little bit more complicated for them to find partners who understand.”

GIRL: hey I’m free for that drink Thursday, but I should tell you I’m married to a great guy, but we never have sex. It’s in our vows.

THE DEVIL’S HARD BARGAIN: fantastic! you sound totally normal. I’m scratching you in now as my third stringer.

Rodman also cautions that this won’t work if one partner isn’t being entirely honest about what he or she wants in this relationship.

“If one person was secretly hoping that this would turn into something romantic or sexual, then that would be quite the disappointment,” she says.

The Voluntarily Sexless Marriage is the next evolution in beta male bait. Watch for hordes of thirsty betas to jump in with both feet hoping a piece of worthless paper has the power to unplug the tingle spigot.

But if we’re to take Brown and Peterson at their word, they’re pretty happy with their decision so far.

“We have one life,” Brown wrote. “Free yourself!”

Combined IQ: 1

Time for a Phys Quiz. The glowing, and strangely tense, lovebirds:

Hm mm mm. So progressive! Tiffany Trump’s friend married her gay bestie. Cameras and Yahoo blog typists are standing by….

PS I was planning to award Peter Peterson both the coveted Beta of the Month and White Male Pussy of the Month titles, but as you can see from the picture above, those titles aren’t applicable.

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

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

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

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Urbanization and the accompanying social disconnection have the effect of pathologizing female hypergamy, turning it from a useful Darwinian selection mechanism to an auto-immune disorder that robs women of their prime child-bearing years and elevates their risk of spinsterhood.

De-urbanization will throw a monkey wrench in the gears of the cock carousel and corral runaway female hypergamy. If you want to improve the romantic and marital prospects of beta males….that is, if you want more beta males to have access to relatively unsullied feminine women who forsake gogrrl careerism and avoid emotional pollution by shitlib hivemind propaganda in favor of family formation and hearth duties…you’ll support de-urbanization.

A de-urbanization program (aka a Heritage America Renewal Project — HARP) plus an immigration moratorium for a couple of generations are together the only long-term solution to feminist dysgenics. Federal and state incentives should be structured to support small city and town development, antitrust to break up megacorps…basically decentralization and de-scaling.

Infrastructure projects will help revitalize the US interior, making it more attractive for businesses and locals, which will limit the brain drain from rural regions to the coastal megacities. Ending immigration and thwarting the menace of Diversitopia will make good districts more widely available and thus more affordable.

Now if we can only solve the existential problem of female obesity in the heartland, we’ll truly have made America great again!

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A heartwarming story for the holidays.

Tales of woe and perfidy like this one abound. The sexual and marital markets are two way streets. It takes two to tango. If our culture and society degrade or flourish, it will be because men AND women contributed in their particular ways.

Ignore this lesson to polish the pussy pedestal, and you are complicit in whatever social dissolution follows.

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wtf I love Finn chicks now, they can use their psionic powers to transatlantically stroke me off.

Via.

This is the funniest video I’ve seen in years, although it is meant seriously. All women have to do to keep from being raped is turn around, hold out their hand in a “halt” gesture and say “Stop!” That’s it! The Muslim migrant problem is solved!

Apparently, Finland has joined the growing list of White nations allowing itself to be overrun by ruddy rapefugees. And this is their response.

White people have lost their marbles. Try to come up with a better explanation.

I wonder if this is what it’s like for faithful adherents when their religion is under attack from an increasingly emboldened chorus of heretics? The religion — in this case Leftoid Equalism — must buckle as the onslaught of realtalk hits from every direction, prompting a wagon-circling reaction among loyal followers that eventually descends into farce, as they grasp for the lifeline of incrementally lunatic rationalizations and defensive postures to protect the investment their egos have made in their wacky beliefs.

If I’m right, then the lid is about to blow on this insanity soon, because when cultists realize they’ve been played for fools all along they either suicide or lash out with a fury. One day, Finns and all the rest of the CuckWhites will have no choice but to make their peace with the reality that the races are constitutionally different and no amount of love or social policy will change that fact. They will make their peace either in rest or in revolt. Pray for the latter.

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