Archive for the ‘Fashion’ Category

You can buy a sweet Trump ring at Skull Jewelry.

Commenter Corinth Arkadin bought one,

Speaking of Toxic Masculinity, I got my Trump ring today (you know, the one we talked about earlier this month). Guess what it came with?

Anyone? Anyone?

A bag of SKITTLES.

I’m pretty sure the folks at SkullJewelry.com are fans of CH.

Do they know about Skittles Man? Is this real life?

Oh yes, and it was NOT subtle, like “Oh here’s a bag of skittles in thanks that we were late with your order he he Drink Your Ovaltine” type-ebay shit, NO, it was like:

“Here’s yore bad ass, YUGE ring (it is, BTW, holy living fcuk!), Good Luck pulling HB8 tail, remember to Be Skittles Man”

Ah I feel a preen coming on…

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This isn’t a shiv, it’s a scythe.

Scythe of the Week award goes to Trump, for cutting that batty old witch Pelosi in two:

Trump strikes back at Pelosi after a day of silence

The president abruptly yanks Pelosi’s international trip after she pulled a power play by postponing his SOTU address.


Some days, Trump’s tweets and WWE governance are enough for me.

PS James Woods on the Demcreeps’ treasonous plan:

PPS You need this: A Donald Trump ring, from Skull Jewelry. Peacocking: Trump Edition. SABO quips,


PPPS The Master Troll had Pelosi’s luggage returned to her on a cart.

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Introducing the next evolution in peacocking headgear:

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White walkers

For you photography phreaks, the alternate title of this post is “White balance”.


LOL, Alex Jones told Marco Foam Party Rubio to “go back to your bathhouse”. What a time to be alive! FYI, shortly after this exchange Twatter perma-banned Alex Jones. Did Foamboy run to Lil’ Lucifer Jack Dorsey and ask for a favor? Could be!

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I’ve been meaning to start up a Stone Cold Truth T-shirt Company monetized through something like CafePress, but, well, life, like my meat, intrudes. It’s too bad, really, because perusing back issues of this blogsheet reminds me of all the stick figure drawings and verbal jujitsu that would look great emblazoned on a pec-hugging v-neck, to be worn to da clubs to provoke tingle-gushing shit tests.

ANYHO, a Gabster thought the following by yours truly — an ASCII tablet of inscribed Chateau Principles inspired by a stray musing about the nature of the power of sophistic skypery — would make a great graphic tee:

Jews understand that a coherent, pithy world view can subvert civilizations. Right back atcha, schlomo inc, the chateau world view, annotated:

Chicks dig power
Men dig beauty
Equalism is a lie
Sex differences are real
Race differences are real
Culture is race
Race is genes
and the hour is late

There’s a dissident business owner on Gab who goes by the handle @cryptofashion who may be interested in seeing my Weltanschauung on a line of t-shirts, papuan cock sleeves, beach towels, and bikini bottoms (waif font required).

It’s time to Make Shitlibs Uncomfortable Again.

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Opposite George Game

A buddy is a study in contrasts. He likes to do the opposite of whatever the masses are doing, but without the pretension that often characterizes iconoclasts. The idea, as he puts it, is to transgress social norms in one medium while following them in another, parallel medium, to disorient women and pique their interest.

For instance, he wears a deep red t-shirt on St Patty’s Day to go out in, while everyone else is dressed in a shade of green. Naturally, this draws the attention of hungry poon, particularly the girls who are up for a deep tissue flirtation. A girl walks over and gives him shit about his shirt, he smiles and, rather than smugly going off on not being Irish or how he’s too autistic to celebrate ethnic holidays in post-racial American, he says “eh, green makes me look washed out” or “I’m color blind. Feel better?” Or he might self-incriminatingly reply, “I’m a nonconformist prick.”

Opposite George Game — “I’m unemployed and bald and live with my parents” — can juice your bantz to incredible heights as long as you avoid even a hint of defensiveness, discomfort, or trepidation, and you don’t take yourself, or your marks, too seriously.

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I have a shirt that is Pure Shitlord Energy. Its pec-framed artistry is set to maximum triggering; no fatty, frump. or fug SJW can see it without shaking violently on the inside. I wore this shirt recently at an outdoor event filled with the libbiest libshits, and every SJWhale and problem glasses fishmouth snarled as I passed by them. But the hotties….woowee they smiled and loitered in my vicinity. The beauty of the shirt is in its humor. The message is in-your-face antediluvian alphatude coated with a soothingly humorous shell.

Shitcocking serves three useful purposes:

  1. It filters the noxious cunts from bang consideration
  2. It attracts the curious cuties
  3. It provokes curious cutie shit tests that allow you to demonstrate your grace under pressure

It seems the HSMV girls relish the triggering. They get a kick out of a man who triggers them; this is a stark contrast to the puritans and schoolmarms and twatalitarians who can’t tolerate dissent from their straitjacketed, dreary world view, and frown and scowl at any man who dares mock their prudery.

The catch is that if you’re gonna shitcock, you had better be fearless. The second you disclose through word or body twitch the slightest doubt and discomfort with your chosen form of shitcockery, the girls will eat you alive. Even the once-curious cuties. But if you are overflowing with overconfidence, the girls worth your attention will reel from sudden blasts of arousal. They will poke and prod, but it will all be done with a presumption of your attractiveness. Poking and prodding is a good thing; it’s when they frown and look the other way that you’ll know you rubbed their hindfur against the grain.

Mass triggering a large public gathering of shitlib cunts is one of life’s finer pleasures. But doing so while feminine fillies flirt with you, and your un-wipeable smirk steals the show, is a sensual shiv incomparable. If you’ve got the cahones, one mesmerizing shirt can substitute for one hundred cold approaches.

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