Archive for the ‘Escape’ Category

Via Steve. Backdraft: definition.

A commenter over there adds his dystopian flair,

If you project the African population based on population growth from 2000-2015, Africa will have somewhere north of 7 billion people by AD 2100. That’s well higher than the UN estimates of 4 billion or so. If anything, UN estimates are far too conservative.

There is no way, of course, that Africa will have 7 billion people by 2100. The means by which they don’t reach that number are a matter of intense interest, however. War, famine, disease, or genocide – which will it be?

Note that when I say genocide, I don’t mean nations or tribes of Africans killing each other – I mean Africans migrating out and killing the rest of us. Because at the current rate, if they did so we’d probably let them. That’s how suicidal our dumbass leaders have become.

Perhaps 150,000 years from now scientists will all be talking about how mankind evolved from a people who migrated out from Africa 150,000 years earlier and killed off the hominid populations already living in the other regions of the earth, occasionally raping or otherwise interbreeding with some of them and thus passing on a little of their DNA.

Leftoid: “10% non-White America put a man on the moon. Just think what we could accomplish by importing millions more vibrants into Minnesota and Bavaria suburbs, like this charming fellow overflowing with untapped human capital!”

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When (psychologically healthy, retained survival instinct) White America has nightmares about a demographic tsunami of illegal aliens swamping their electoral prerogative and ruining their cultural, aesthetic, economic, and environmental heritage, Mexicans usually come to mind. But that’s a woefully incomplete picture of the massive and worldwide scale of the immigration invasion to America’s, and Europe’s, White homelands.

The immigration invasion and (so far) bloodlessly genocidal extirpation of Whites from their own countries has its origins in many foreign non-White lands. This map shows the countries of origin of the second most populous immigrant groups leeching living in each US state:

A lot of Phillippinas, Chinese, subcontinental Indians, and, emerging as the next big wave to (re)settle Minnesota, Africans.

Here’s an illegal immigrant country-of-origin map for the year 2012, created from US Dept of Homeland Security statistics.

Not even Whyte. Look at that big fat goose egg representing any immigrants coming from Europe. This is nothing less than total displacement of one race by other races, and it doesn’t matter if the displacement is “illegal”, since the powers that be consider such legalistic fictions to be mere technicalities on the path to a New World GloboCorpBorg.

Are you a PUA hoping that the huddled masses will bring a few huddled hotties your way? Think again.

Sorry, no immigrant Poon Paradise here. Open Borders is Closed Beavers. Unless grandmas make you horny.

In 2013, Mexico was overtaken by both China and India as a source of new invaders to America. Emotionally-barren spergs rejoice at the arrival of our Oriental high IQ overlords, but the rest of us know the score: Increased corruption, nepotism, low trust, social disconnection, and the loss of the myriad intangibles that comprise a culture and make it livable for the founding people who were the creators of that culture.

Is an Asian Future really better than a Mexican Future in America? Eh, I’m not so sure about that. I am sure that a White Future for, shock!, Whites would be best, but for some reason that position is considered beyond the pale of settled discussion by the Puppeteers and the hordes of pants-wetting escapees from the funny farm.

Depressing post. I’ll end it on a high note. Here’s what a beautiful Walled World would look like:

Background on the above map. It’s basically a map depicting border walls around territories where 73% of the world’s income exists. Or: it’s a map of the White World (and honorary Whites, the Japanese) walling off the non-White hinterlands.

A suspiciously unified voice of whiny snark is heard over the Realtalk. “But you can’t just build a wall. A wall won’t do anything to stop the Vibrancy Enrichment!”

Really, now? Tell that to the Israelis. Their wall is working so well that news of it must be ignored by the American Hivemind, lest her own people get the same idea.

According to the most recent quarterly figures published by the Population, Immigration and Borders Authority, 36 people have been caught trying to enter [Israel’s] southern border since January.

It’s an incredible drop after 10,440 were caught in 2012, 17,298 in 2011 and 14,715 in 2010. In the years before that, the numbers were lower but still in the thousands.

Walls work, and construction costs are more than paid for in a few years time.

The fence along the Israel-Egypt border built over several years cost an estimated $377 million, according to the Times of Israel. The Algemeiner reported that the main section of the fence – a 143-mile stretch – took two years to build.

$377 million is chump change to our bloated US government. The US spends over $12 billion on bilingual education programs alone. Even scaling up to the length of the US-Mexico border, it’s clear that cost of construction would be more than worth it in savings down the road.


Related to the subject of this post, reader Steely Dan writes about the reality of interracial dating.

I’ve been talking about the interracial-dating disparity for years. Nobody ever wanted to listen. The number of white women who date inter-racially compared to the number of white men who do in my area is quite significant. People always told me that “it doesn’t affect me” and I shouldn’t care. But it does affect all white males. The number of single white males in my area is much larger than the number of single white females.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what an abundance of single men does to a man’s chances to find a woman. There’s a reason men don’t like to go to parties where it’s mostly other men. Hell, even on mainstream websites like Yahoo, they often list Best cities for Single Men, based solely on the male/female ratio of the population. Often the cities that are best for single men only have a higher female population by a few percentage points.

Considering that, just how does one not expect the number of white women in inter-racial relationships not to affect that? On top of that, consider all of the illegal immigration. The vast majority of illegal immigrants are male. This country is turning into a sausage fest.

And who wants to live in a sausage fest.

It’s not quite the case that the “vast” majority of immigrants to the US are male, but it is a majority. And in the sexual market, all it takes is a small population size skew in the direction of one sex or the other to have profound effects on the dating culture.

Maybe The Trumpening should hit the Sausage Fest angle of immigration hard? If he talks about how immigrants are mostly men and are turning the whole country into a sword fight, I bet he’d clean up with the beta male demo. Then he could segue into how most of the immigrant men are nowags, street shitters, and stoop laborer child rapists, and clean up the White women vote.

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Thumping, throbbing, pulsing… a sinuous dolphinoid stroke through crisscrossing waves of briny, grinding flesh, arrive at destination: a ramshackle tropic-themed auxiliary bar. I wave, regally, in the vicinity of the bartendress, to order a stiff one. To my left, propped lordotically on a stool, a slim blonde in slimmer dress squeezes a lime wedge into her love potion. She thinks (incorrectly) a stray sour squirt hit me; I feign injury.

Blondie: “Oh, I’m sorry about that!”

Left hand up to left eye, I execute a grimace with great gusto. “Aagh! My eye! It burns.”

She gawks for a beat, I spread two fingers slowly apart, revealing the abstractly-afflicted eye, peering at her with my miraculously and expediently cured vision through the finger gap, smiling with same orb a reprieve from a personal injury lawsuit. I leave the scene, pressed in equal measure by physiological necessity and the advantages of calculated absence. Her friend, almost as attractive, says “bye” loudly as I set off.

The right inflection can flip a “bye” into a “why not stay for a longer ‘hi'”?

Re-trace my dolphin migration, arrive at bathroom to discharge the blowhole. Too many pissers. The walls bulge, Matrix-like, with the teem of testosterone. Zipping and careful to avoid slipping in the slosh of urine accumulating on the floor, I contort my return way through the crowd to the bathroom exit, as a crescendo of primate chest beatings alerts my early warning detection system. A stygian mutant standing in the doorway prognathously bellows, “That’s rude, man. That kinda rude can get a man killed”, at a retreating Topper pretending to ignore the taunt. He repeats his threat in staccato bursts of gumfire three or four (thousand) times, a menacing series of war cries intended to evoke the fear of an inevitable eruption of normalcy into sudden, violent, pitched battle. I raise my arms into a preparatory garrison as I snake around the rapidly intensifying black hole of gravitational incivility.

Escape velocity achieved. One hundred paces between chaos and rapture. Back at dryland Bar Tiki, the blonde, still seated, still smoldering, shifts to make room for my adjacent insertion. I accost her.

“You know I’m practically blind in my right eye now.”

“You mean, your left eye?”

“Oh, yeah, my left eye. Blind as a bat. At least your right side looks good. I hope your left side makes the grade.”

Her face energizes for gratifying combat. She sparkles, I toggle. Everything is gonna be alright.

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Yesterday, I speculated on motives for co-pilot Andreas Lubitz’s murderous sabotage of the plane he flew into a moutain. Three of my speculations appear to be strong possibilities, based on the most current evidence come to light.

2. Beta male rage. He suffered a recent breakup and took it out on himself and 150 strangers. […]

4. Terrorist mole. We’ve had a spate of planes going down because of pilot treachery. Have secretive terror-sponsoring societies filled flight schools with terrorist moles? Talk about the long game… […]

6. Muslim convert. No evidence of this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the media Hivemind keeps this kind of info under wraps for the duration of public interest.

I settled on the schizophrenia explanation, figuring that based on Lubitz’s history battling depression and bad things happening to people who take anti-psychotics that it was the most likely reason for his mass murder-suicide.

But, that wasn’t my first instinct. When I saw a photo of the guy, my gut told me he was a lovelorn beta male candidate who may have flew (heh) into a psychotic episode triggered by a relationship breakup. I decided against my gut, in favor of the more “PC” speculation. I should’ve stuck with my gut. News arrives that Lubitz was seeing a therapist to get over his fiancée dumping him.

Reports this morning suggested the pilot may have been badly affected by a “relationship crisis” and was struggling to cope following a break-up with his girlfriend – who he was due to marry next year.

He is said to have shared an apartment in Dusseldorf – the destination of the doomed plane – with a woman whose surname is Goldbach.

The beta male rage angle is looking better.

(NB: This isn’t omega male rage, a la Elliot Rodger. Omega males are sexless castaways. Beta males can get girlfriends, but are awful at maintaining relationship hand, so they frequently get dumped, what seems to them, out of the blue.)

Chalk one up for CH speculation #2. What about the other speculations? Looks like I was onto something as well when I suggested (#s 4 and 6) that Lubitz may have converted to Islam.

All evidence indicates that the copilot of Airbus machine in his six-months break during his training as a pilot in Germanwings, converted to Islam and subsequently either by the order of “radical”, ie. devout Muslims , or received the order from the book of terror, the Quran, on his own accord decided to carry out this mass murder. As a radical mosque in Bremen is in the center of the investigation, in which the convert was staying often, it can be assumed that he – as Mohammed Atta, in the attack against New York – received his instructions directly from the immediate vicinity of the mosque.

We’ll see if this gets confirmed by German authorities. Or not, given that the Davosian Hivemind would wish to assiduously conceal such information from the public.

The whole horrible spasm of evil stinks to high hell of the effluvium excreted by a nexus of romantically defeated beta male rage + psychotropics + religion of peace + social atomization. Like commenter Bill said, white Westerners, and white Western men in particular, have become “unmoored”. Blowouts like Lubitz could become a feature of the future, rather than inexplicable one-offs. Unmoored white men, and especially white women, will increasingly find a soothing comfort in the black-and-white tenets offered by the alternative to secular, vibrantly diverse, libertardian materialism: Muhammadeism.

(A battle pitting Muslim beheaders against beep booping libertarians is gonna be awfully one-sided. And seriously cut into my poolside time.)

Chief Christian Sadist Pleasureman writes a lot about SCALE, and how its growth is tearing apart the fabric of society. He’s onto something, but I should point out that SCALE has other downstream effects he doesn’t often consider. One of them is the observed reality that massive SCALE permits women a broader pool of alpha fux to garnish their beta bux. SCALE encourages women, and the top 20% alpha males they desire, to satisfy their worst instincts.

Kind-faced (aka tamed) beta males like Andreas Lubitz get chewed up and spit out by SCALE. They have no community outside of immediate family. The implicit contract of relationship stability that was a given in the time of his beta father and grandfather has been severed. SCALE has permitted wider romantic vistas for women, for good and ill, and they are voting with their feet. The wreckage of Lubitzs left behind looks like the dumbstruck face of a good-natured beta who can’t believe his dependability and emotional support aren’t good enough for his disenchanted lover.

So now the question remaining is whether Lubitz’s romantic troubles precipitated his psychotic break and turn to Islam, or if his mental problems and embrace of Islam pushed his girlfriend away. Either way, the story is an omen for the future of white civilization.

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Reader Mitch Cumstein tells thee of his saga, of his days of thigh adventure!

When I was 17, I worked for this magazine as a summer job. They hired this 30-something lady to be the face of the company in its adverts. Striking for her age. HB9. No one at work dared flirt with her, because she was “married”. However, I knew she was game when I realized 1. Her husband reeked of beta and 2. She accepted every invite to hang after work at the bars. She even rallied the troops most of the time, which is a dead giveaway.

Anyway, another coworker was getting married and HB9 RSVPd with no plus one (another sign), her husband was out of town (another) and she invited us all to come over and drink at her house after the wedding (!!!).

I was 17…the office loved me and I could see she was seeing the affection everyone had for me. People sneaking me drinks, etc. It was an “honorable little brother” type love, and she took notice. She tried chiding me at her house. “Those dance moves you had on the dance floor were inappropriate…” Agreed and amplified (“yup”, “were they? i was too caught up in the rhythm to notice”). I remember she asked, “What do all these coworkers see in you anyway?” And I was buzzed enough to say, “I’d show you, but I probably wouldn’t be invited to your husband’s birthday party if I did.” Her tongue was planted firmly in her cheek. Within five minutes, we were making out and I was fingering her.

She clears everyone out of the house. I tell everyone to go on ahead, I’m going back to get my jacket. When I opened the door, she was standing there, ass naked. She walked into her room and I followed. When we got there, I stopped. Most men would’ve gone ahead, but I realized: THIS IS TOO EASY. It was low-hanging fruit. So I kissed her on the head and made my exit.

The next morning, I get a call on my phone from her. Except when I answer, it’s her husband. He tells me to meet him outside a pizzeria a mile from my house. I go and he’s standing there, pretending to be stoic.

Him: You son of a bitch…
Me: Present.
Him: You are scum…
Me: Yup.
Him: Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?
Me: Well…I didn’t fuck your wife…but the next guy will.

That one hit him like a sledge hammer. It was too true to deny. I guess they’d moved around a lot together, which is why they came to our town in the first place. My friends tell me he didn’t kick my ass because I was 17 and he’d be embarrassed to explain it all if he had to, but I disagree. He actually thanked me before taking off. “Thank you for being so honest,” was what he said. He was THAT beta. They were divorced within a year.

The next day at work, I was stocking sodas and the HB9 dropped a gift bag at my feet with a smile. Inside it were my sunglasses. I left them in his bedroom and that’s how he found out. It wasn’t even that she told him out of guilt; the guy found a pair of sunglasses in his room and had her dead to rights.

The takeaway: you grow up thinking married women are hard to snag, but in reality, they’re easier. It’s because most are lonely. Have relations with them or don’t, but if you do…don’t forget your sunglasses.

Bored wives are cheating wives, in heart if not in pussy. And where a woman’s heart goes, her hole is sure to follow.

Women complain that they have to keep up their looks so their husband’s eyes don’t stray, but they fail to recognize the tougher job men must undertake to keep the interest of their wives…. omnipresent charm and sexiness, to be called upon at will and dispensed in precise degrees of need as with a chemist’s skilled titration hand. The legally entangled husband’s job is made tough by the nature of women’s demands, which are psychological outgrowths of the fundamental premise. The job is tougher still in a social environment which has unleashed and sanctioned the most primitive animal instincts of women, and which offers women endless opportunities for financial and emotional exploit through the feminism-directed man-loathing divorce industrial complex.

PS I understand that there will be the usual readers who disbelieve this story. CH is not interested in the after-school job of parsing lines of code in reader-submitted anecdotes for evidence of fantasy, but we can tell you from experience that stories similar to Mitch Cumstein’s are common enough to warrant testimonial status, even if the specific, and probably poorly recalled, dialogue snippets are reconstituted in stilted or hubristic form.

Having stated the above disclaimer, I have to ask Cumstein… why would you agree to meet the husband of your near-hit illicit liaison? Teenage naivete?

PPS If your girlfriend or wife travels without you, the chances she’ll misbehave go way up.

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The Boyfriend Zone

Reader H.H. is bedeviled by the Boyfriend Zone.

Dear Chateau! you’ve helped me a lot so…

What to do when girls always put me in the “potential boyfriend” category? I’m a sociable guy who usually has no problems talking to strangers, getting people to smile or laugh, etc. I travel, have a cool job, hit the gym every once in a while and know my way around both in a sports bar and in an art gallery.

However, I tend to always be approached or at the very least orbited by 7s and 8s looking for a relationship*. ”I’d like to leave home with you, but I need to know that you’re interested in the long term” or ”I’d like to kiss you now, but I have to find out first whether you’re married”. (I could take them home and fuck them, but I hate to lie.)

I’m more interested in short crazy, one nighters with no strings attached. What’s this? I’ve been afraid that I’m giving out too many nice guy vibes, could that be it? Is there an element of danger missing? Are the sluts not interested? What am I fucking up?

*Of course the next step is to upgrade from 7-8s to 8-9s, but i’m not sure if that problem is connected with this…

When a woman tries to put you in the Boyfriend Zone, it usually means you’re giving off a heavy player vibe. She fears you’ll make her another bedpost notch, but she desires you, so to reconcile the good feeling with the bad feeling, she presses for reassurances that you won’t use and lose her. This is classic anti-slut defense (ASD) posturing.

This is a perfectly natural female response, and you have two ways to tackle it. One, you can tone down your charming jerk vibe in favor of more beta-ish cues of reliability and emotional investment. In game parlance, you’d back off of the teasing and flirting and stress comfort-building and qualification (i.e., “Do you like the idea of traveling with one person you really love?”). You’ll also want to flash hints of vulnerability. “I’ve had my heart broken enough times to know I’m no player.” With these girls, that effervescent connection is king. “I’m just a guy looking for the same thing you are.”

Two, you can screen for girls who want short, crazy flings or one night stands. This means you amp your jerk smirk to 11 and escalate sexually (and logistically). The idea is that you avoid any confusion that you’re potential boyfriend material. Mixed messages are probably what’s confusing girls about your intentions. Normally, this is a good thing, unless you don’t like to mislead girls, which you said you don’t. An unambiguous dispatch of your cad intentions communicated through your behavior filters for girls who want the same thing. You’ll scare away LTR-focused girls, while attracting sluts, unhappily married women, ovulating women, thrill-seekers, rebounds, urban gogrrls on anonymous adventures, highly sexual women, and smart women.

Occasionally, a woman will put you in the Boyfriend Zone because your behavior in some way has pinged her boyfriend radar, and she’s excited about the prospect of dating a man who’s on her wavelength. Her excitement can be so great, she seeks validation for the LTR promise that hangs heavy in the air between you two. This validation seeking can take the form of probing questions about your “commitment to commitment”, because for these women romantic escalation is as intoxicating as sexual escalation. Many players have no compunction about leading these types of women on (and it’s quite easy to be good at it), so if that’s not something you’d do then you’ll have to stick to strategy #2 and actively select for low impulse control girls.

I have some disheartening news. If you’re constitutionally against the idea of leading women on*, you’ll have a harder time finding many 8s or 9s interested in no-strings-attached sex. Contrary popular mythology, most funfunfun girls who’ll agree to what amounts to slutting it up are the wastoids, the desperate, and, if your game is good, the borderline cuties in the 5-7 range. While SCIENCE! is hard to come by, my impression is that blue city 7s rack up more sex partners than 9s. Which makes sense; all women want the alpha male’s sex and the alpha male’s commitment. But only the best women — read: the hottest — have reasonable expectations of achieving both goals. Less hot girls will sometimes resort to giving away their sex for a shot of alpha male money shots and a slim hope of rousing his long game lovingkindness in the post-coital glow (it rarely happens).

This isn’t to say that you can’t find a boner fried hottie who tingles for the flingle. They’re around; they’re just better at concealing, even to themselves, any latent desire for a sexual romp. If you want to be both honest and noncommittal with a beauty, you’ll have a road ahead of you. If you can handle soft-shoeing your NSA message without having a moral crisis, then blazing a trail of microtears through HSMV women will be easier. Hotties are gonna need to see some feints away from pure sexual objectification. Of course, you’ll still want to make them work for your love.

“I’m dating around until I find that one woman I click with.”

PS *”Leading women on” is just another term for nonjudgmentalism. Men who don’t lead women on are, by necessity, more judgmental of the women they meet. Because in fact there is no such thing as true nonjudgmentalism; we’re all judging something about someone else at any given time. Hiding your judgmentalism is good for business if your business is persuading women to giveitaway.

PPS When a girl says ”I’d like to leave home with you, but I need to know that you’re interested in the long term”, the best reply is one that assuages her fears and avoids supplication. That means, don’t jump on her beta bait with forceful vows of fidelity.


“Oh, I’m definitely interested in the long term with you. I’ve always wanted a girlfriend.”


“Like you, I want the same things. But I can only answer that once I get to know you and spend time with you.”

Your long term interest is presumed but not guaranteed.

Maxim #45: If a girl isn’t working for your love, she’s making you work for hers. Better to be a love owner than a love laborer.

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Your Mission

It’s time that mama bird CH pushes some of you fledglings from the internest to embark on a confidence building mission.

The men who read this site fall roughly in line with the following ratios: 10% cellar dwelling WOWmegas, 30% undersexed betas, 40% curious betas in relationships (or capable of getting into them with some growing pains), 20% alphas of various stripes.

How do I know this? SCIENCE. Actually, it’s an impression I get from the circadian rhythms of the comments section. No claims or proofs by assertion necessary; enough words will coagulate to convey a picture.

So, given that over half the readership are men who genuinely need help meeting and seducing women, and that a substantial portion of these are men who aren’t doing anything to fulfill their desire besides stare at a flickering screen hoping for PIV through CH osmosis, I have decided to give some of you a ticket out of here, in the form of a manbuilding mission.

Understanding how hard it can be for a lot of men to say hi to girls, this mission is fine-tuned for the hopelessly lovelorn and intractably awkward. Baby steps. You won’t have to say word one to a girl. All you have to do is…

1. Squeeze a twinkle into your eye.

Now naturally there’s no physiological way to do this directly. But if you imagine you have an eye twinkle, like some mischievous imp who pulled off a righteous prank, then your eyes will begin to respond to your mental state and manifest twinkles on their own.

2. Smile, but just a little at the corner of the mouth.

Again, you’ll need mental preparation to do this right. Have you ever sauntered alone in your thoughts, musing on some funny scene from your life, or some joke you pulled on a friend (or enemy)? Have you then noticed, once jolted back to your surroundings, that your mouth had aligned into a badboy smirk all on its own? That’s what you’re aiming for. Not a goofy smile; a self-satisfied smile that tells the public world your private world is a trip.

3. Walk with your crotch leading the way.

Sounds silly, but it’s the secret to many an alpha’s intoxicating swagger. Imagine your baton is a marching band leader, setting the tempo, securing the parade route. Or visualize your iron schlong is being pulled forward by a magnetic force, dragging the rest of you behind it. Shoulders square, chest out, chin up, frank and beans forward and pushing your legs apart to make room. Don’t be comical about it. A little goes a long way.

Your mission is to assume the above three changes to your countenance, and walk around in public. That’s it.

Once you get into a groove, I want you to notice how girls respond to you. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. These subtle body language alterations make a bigger difference than you might have thought.

After you’ve accomplished this rudimentary lesson in confidence building, you’ll move on to mission #2: How to say hi to a girl without deucing your diapers.

If, for whatever reason (pathological neuroticism), mission #1 is too high a hurdle for you, there are aids you can enlist to help you acquire that arrogant alpha demeanor women so love and cherish. Jam in ear buds and blast your favorite testicular tunes. Remember, you aren’t talking to girls on mission #1. Your only job is to project an alluring aura. If music doesn’t do the trick, there’s always that old reliable coc[REDACTED].

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