Alpha Of The Month

Best part of this photo is the Holy See delegation just behind the right shoulder of Papua John’s double peckeroni pizza roll. Holy Seeeeeeiiittt!

How many UN globalist girls forced their faces into a rictus of feigned indifference as Delegate Horny Level 99 schwinged and schwung in front of them? Phonies, the lot.

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Pro-White Hand Gestures Vs Anti-Goofball Female Id (it’s no contest)

I had to chuckle when I saw this photo in the CH combox (h/t a reader who shall remain anon):

The reader writes,

A liberal friend sent me this — ah ha! Racist hand-gestures!

I responded:

The funniest thing is Brittany Pettibone, who is very good looking as well somewhat articulate, cannot help but sit removed from the goofy guys with a mildly disgusted look on her face in a posture that is defending her lady-parts from the subpar sexual equipage of these dorks and signaling that none of these guys is her boyfriend.

One underlying psychological obstacle for those men who have lurid designs on the bodies, hearts and souls of alt-coquettes is, as commenter manwhoisthursday put it, the probable weirdness of chicks who conspicuously and publicly glom onto small insurgent political movements started by men, especially a movement that has as its central conceit a willingness to jettison female-friendly treacly and embrace the ugliest mantruths about humanity. I welcome the alliance of these thot little minxes, but their active participation is a red flag that the girl has, generously, a quirky personality and acts and thinks in ways that are unrepresentative for the female norm of behavior.

Because, and I suffer to say it, the single White woman norm of behavior in 2017 Weimerica is shitlib. Women are herd animals, and the herd has been stampeding in the shitlib direction for a long time now. So it’s sensible from the aspiring alt-cad’s POV to cast a wary eye at single White women who blatantly counter-signal the platitudes of the majority of their sex. If you want to take a crack at these outlier alt-chicks, I suggest you speak smoothly and carry a based stick.

To be fair to the alt-men in this photo, any mixed group social event that has one cute girl in the company of eight men is bound to elicit egg-guarding defensiveness and egg-gilding ego boostification in the outflanked and surrounded girl. BP’s closed body language and sit-offishness may therefore be less an indictment of the quality of the men at that table than a natural female instinct toward personal safety when the sex ratio is badly skewed.

If that’s the case, then one of these men needs to peel away from the sausage reich and coax BP into a mano-a-womano private location where her feminine power can more assertively flower. Godspeed, aspiring alt-womanizer, and remember that milk and OK hand signs may trigger shitlibs but only the Rude Word of Game can thaw a frosty thot.

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CH Tribute Game

Mr. Meaner collected an impressive best-of compendium of CH banter lines and jizzed them all in one glorious rhetorical orgasm while jiving with a sheila on Tinder. I don’t think this is the first CH reader to attempt such a feat, but Mr Meaner’s effort is worth inclusion in the Hall of Swain pantheon of poon wrasslin’.

Tinder convo, nearly every CH line used in one sitting, more as a tribute than anything. Enjoy!

Me: so how normal are you?
Her: I guess that’s a matter of perception.
Me: little spoon doesn’t make the rules
Her: Haha
Her: What if I don’t play by the rules?
Me: punishment. that’s what
Her: Haha does this normally work for you? I’m actually curious…
Me: only on hot girls
Her: Touche
Her: You’re good
Her: I’ll give you that
Me: so what else have you got going for you?
Her: Not much really… just my looks
Her: Oh and my sarcastic remarks
Me: How’s that working out for you?
Her: Rather well to date
Her: What do you have going on for yourself, apart from a desire to be domineering?

I almost feel sorry for this girl. How much vaginal overload can one girl take?

PS Take special note of the word count ratio between these two poolsiders. Mr Meaner adheres admirably to one of the Poon Commandments:

V. Adhere to the golden ratio

Give your woman 2/3 of everything she gives you. For every three calls or texts, give her two back. Three declarations of love earn two in return. Three gifts; two nights out. Give her two displays of affection and stop until she has answered with three more. When she speaks, you reply with fewer words. When she emotes, you emote less. The idea behind the golden ratio is twofold — it establishes your greater value by making her chase you, and it demonstrates that you have the self-restraint to avoid getting swept up in her personal dramas. Refraining from reciprocating everything she does for you in equal measure instills in her the proper attitude of belief in your higher status. In her deepest loins it is what she truly wants.

Mr Meaner: 6 replies
Girl: 11 replies

That’s actually better than the 2/3rds ratio recommended in Poon Commandment V, and it shows. This chick has one foot in his bedroom already.

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Covfefe Game

Galactic Overlord Trump made a typo in a tweet and hit send before checking. He obviously meant to type “[media] coverage” instead of “covfefe”. On cue, full spectrum shitlibs descended into mass womanish hysteria and haven’t stopped crying about it. Trump decided to let the typo stand overnight before deleting it (or delighting in it) in the morning, figuring that there was much entertainment value to be had in triggering infantile shitlibs into yet another tantrum. Naturally, he was right. In the morning, he deleted the typo and replied with this tweet:

Who can figure out the true meaning of "covfefe" ??? Enjoy!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) May 31, 2017

This is classic Trump; make a common mistake that millions of normal Americans make all the time when typing on their phones, wind up deranged lunatic shitlibs, and then drive them over the brink of sanity by poking a little fun at himself. Self-deprecation is most effective when it’s used to defang, belittle, or otherwise show up humorless drones like your garden variety Trump-hating shitlib.

You can bet the bank that if the Gay Mulatto had tweeted the exact tweet Trump sent out in the same circumstances, the autistic screeching crowd would be tripping over themselves with praise and unctuous flattery for the Golden Groid’s good sense of humor and common man’s touch.

Anyhow, the episode is a great real life illustration of two Game principles:

Never Apologize

and

Agree&Amplify.

The two principles taken together form a powerful seduction technique that I’ll call Covfefe Game. The purpose of Covfefe Game is simple: Come across like a confident cocksure jerkboy in the commission of a faux pas while dissipating any potential social awkwardness and deflating the indignation of humorless frumps demanding or expecting your contrition.

In pickup, Covfefe Game is usually evident when an alpha male pushes a little too soon or too hard for sex talk or physical mingling. If the girl objects (often nonverbally) or hurls a shit test because she’s a Level 99 Sass Lass, the alpha male will, most crucially, refrain from apologizing, and follow up with a Trumpian Agree&Amplify, e.g.:

GIRL: I’m not that kind of girl.

MODS! BONEHAMMER!: This is nothing. Wait’ll you see my finishing move.

If the alpha violates some sacred millennial iphag sjw tenet, Covfefe Game will help him come out smelling like roses.

JACKHAMMER OF THE GODS: that neighborhood is ghetto.

LISPING SJW: um, you can’t say that anymore.

JACKHAMMER OF THE GODS: damn, ok. that neighborhood is black as night.

If it’s a minor verbal miscue more along the lines of Trump’s tweet typo, a self-deprecating Covfefe strategy can help there too.

MAXIMUS TESTICULUS: I’m gonna recline poolside in my chaise longue.

PRETENTIOUS DORK: haha you said “chase lounge”. it’s pronounce shaiz long.

MAXIMUS TESTICULUS: Someone’s jealous of my super long lounge chair.

The goal of Covfefe Game is the same whether your target is a cute girl or the Shitlib Cuntsortium: to provoke arousal and make them chase you for validation.

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The Expired Woman

How does a woman let decades slip by and watch forlornly as she tumblrs from bodacious to barren? By deluding herself that her biological clock has more minutes on it than it actually does.

Sarah Haas, 35, says she feels like she has about five years to decide whether to have children.

*facepalm* At 35, the smart bet is that the lifespan on her womb has already reached the end. If she’s lucky, she’ll push out one underweight autistic problem child allergic to every food group except soy before her last egg is unceremoniously expunged in a portentous hot flash by age 40.

One can blame the feminist grrlpower gaystream media for pumping women’s hamster cages full of lies about their fertility and sexual market staying power, but ultimately it’s the fault of these women for hoping wishing fantasizing and persisting in the Fake Belief that they are just as sexy and, coincidentally, ripely fertile at 35 as they were at 25 and even more so at 19.

For Haas, 35, though, the assumptions are hard. She was in two long-term relationships, each lasting nearly a decade. If those didn’t result in a child, it must be because she didn’t want them to, right? Nope. It just happened that way. It was just life.

Cheap, widespread, and easy birth control has been a more potent Darwinian selection force than wars and famine. We are just now seeing the effects of that unnatural selection on the populations that have had effective birth control the longest, and the verdict is in: overrun by more fertile barbarians.

She separates it into “before” and “after.” In previous generations, many women had kids “before” — before career, before travel, before other elements of life. Now, Haas sees people who think of having children as “after” — after you have built your own, individual life.

Careergrrlism is civilizational death.

Haas can list the reasons that now isn’t the perfect time: Her career isn’t in an ideal place. Financially, it would be tough. Her current relationship is pretty new.

The prologue of Idiocracy, the most prescient movie of the past twenty years, nailed this female solipsism.

And, that biological feeling, that hit-you-in-your-gut urge that some women feel so deeply, has never struck Haas.

“I know a lot of women who know that they want to be mothers,” she says. “They know it. They don’t know how; they don’t know when; maybe they choose a life that doesn’t give them that, but they know they want to be mothers. And because either I can’t trust that feeling, or I don’t have it, I do wonder if that means that I shouldn’t. But at the same time, I know that I love children, and I know that I would be an amazing mother.”

Tragically, she won’t be making that decision for children; the God of Biomechanics will decide for her. And His avatar of intervention in human affairs — evolution — is a ruthless, merciless reaper of self-deluding fools. Her anti-natalism kind will, in short order, be washed from the earth into Hades along a Pill-polluted ovary-dead River Cysts, and we who have eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Poolside and Evil can only hope that the barrenesses of the West don’t take White Civilization with them.

PS The Expired Woman is closely related to the Inspired Woman.

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A fat woman is inherently untrustworthy

It’s generally a good idea to avoid those with indiscriminate tastes and passions. The wind blows them whither, and the buffet table bloats them thither. AKA NO FAT CHICKS.

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Chicks Dig Niceguys…Underneath The Jerkboys

“But I’m ALL Milhouse!”

Sorry, Milhouse, chicks don’t really want niceguys. They want jerks they can pretend are niceguys underneath. Allow me to introduce you to the female rationalization hamster:

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